THE 
SEINERS 


BY 


JAMES   B.    CONNOLLY 

AUTHOR  OF   "OUT  OF  GLOUCESTER," 
"JEB   HUTTON,"   ETC. 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
NEW   YORK:::::::::::::::::i9io 


COPYRIGHT,  1904,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published,  May,  1904 


CONTENTS 

PAGB 

I.  THE  NEW  VESSEL  OF  WITHROW'S    .    .  i 

II.  A  LITTLE  JOG  ALONG  THE  DOCKS     .    .  g 

III.  MINNIE  ARKELL 16 

IV.  LITTLE  JOHNNIE  DUNCAN  STANDS  EX 

AMINATION 27 

V.  FROM  OUT  OF  CROW'S  NEST     ....    35 

VI.  MAURICE  BLAKE  GETS  A  VESSEL     .    .    43 

VII.  GLANCY  GROSSES  MINNIE  ARKELL    .    .51 

VIII.  THE  SEINING  FLEET  PUTS  OUT  TO  SEA    61 

IX.  MACKEREL 70 

X.  WE  LOSE  OUR  SEINE 82 

XI.  AN  OVER-NIGHT  BREEZE 87 

XII.  THE  FLEET  RUNS  TO  HARBOR      ...    99 

XIII.  WESLEY  MARRS  BRINGS  A  MESSAGE     .  119 

XIV.  A  PROSPECT  OF  NIGHT-SEINING    .    .    .123 
XV.  GLANCY  TO  THE  MAST-HEAD   .    .    .    .129 

XVI.    WE  GET  A  FINE  SCHOOL 137 

XVII.    A  DRIVE  FOR  MARKET 144 

XVIII.    A  BRUSH  WITH  THE  YACHTING  FLEET  .  153 

XIX.    MINNIE  ARKELL  AGAIN 159 

v 


248977 


Contents 


xx. 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

xxv. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 


PAGE 

THE  SKIPPER  PUTS  FOR  HOME    .     .  172 

SEINERS*  WORK 175 

ON  THE  CAPE  SHORE 184 

DRESSING  DOWN 193 

THE  WITHROW  OUTSAILS  THE  DUN 
CAN  202 

TROUBLE      WITH     THE     DOMINION 
CUTTERS  .  206 


211 
217 

220 
230 
235 
243 


THE  GOSSIP  IN  GLOUCESTER  .  .  . 
IN  CLANCY'S  BOARDING-HOUSE  .  . 
IN  THE  ARKELL  KITCHEN  .... 
MAURICE  BLAKE  COMES  HOME  .  . 
THE  MORNING  OF  THE  RACE  .  .  . 
THE  START  OF  THE  RACE  .  .  . 
O'DONNELL  CARRIES  AWAY  BOTH 

MASTS 250 

THE  ABLE  JOHNNIE  DUNCAN  .  .  257 
MINNIE  ARKELL  ONCE  MORE  .  .  265 
CLANCY  LAYS  DOWN  THE  LAW  .  .271 
MAURICE  BLAKE  is  RECALLED  .  .281 

THE  GIRL  IN  CANSO 289 

THE  DUNCAN  GOES  TO  THE   WEST'- 

ARD 297 

THE   HEART  OF  CLANCY     .    .         .  309 


VI 


THE    SEINERS 


The  Seiners 


THE   NEW  VESSEL   OF  WITHROW'S 

IT  was  only  a  few  days  before  this  that  the 
new  vessel  of  Mr.  Withrow's,  built  by  him, 
as  everybody  supposed,  for  Maurice  Blake,  had 
been  towed  around  from  Essex,  and  I  remember 
how  Maurice  stood  on  the  dock  that  afternoon 
and  looked  her  over. 

There  was  not  a  bolt  or  a  plank  or  a  seam  in 
her  whole  hull,  not  a  square  inch  inside  or  out,  that 
he  had  not  been  over  half  a  dozen  times  while 
she  was  on  the  stocks ;  but  now  he  had  to  look  her 
over  again,  and  as  he  looked  his  eyes  took  on  a 
shine.  She  had  been  designed  by  a  man  famous 
the  world  over,  and  was  intended  to  beat  any 
thing  that  ever  sailed  past  Eastern  Point. 

She  certainly  was  a  great-looking  model  of  a 
vessel,  and  "If  she  only  sails  and  handles  half  so 
well  as  she  looks,  she'll  do  for  me,"  said  Maurice. 
"Yes,  sir,  and  if  she's  up  to  what  I  think  she  ought 
to  be,  I  wouldn't  be  afraid  to  bet  my  share  of  what 

I 


The  Seiners 

we  make  out  South  that  she'll  hold  her  own  with 
anything  out  of  Gloucester — give  her  a  few  weeks 
to  loosen  up,  of  course." 

That  was  a  good  deal  to  say,  for  it  was  a  great 
fleet  of  vessels  sailing  out  of  Gloucester;  but  even 
so,  even  allowing  for  a  young  skipper's  pride  in 
his  first  crack  vessel,  it  meant  a  whole  lot  coming 
like  that  from  Maurice  Blake. 

And  on  top  of  all  that  Maurice  and  Withrow 
had  to  quarrel,  though  what  about  I  never  found 
out.  I  only  know  that  I  was  ready  to  believe  that 
Withrow  was  to  blame,  for  I  liked  Maurice  and 
did  not  like  Withrow,  even  though  Withrow  was 
the  man  from  whom  I  drew  my  pay  every  week. 
And  yet  I  could  not  understand  it,  for  Maurice 
Blake  had  been  far  and  away  the  most  successful 
skipper  sailing  for  Withrow,  and  Withrow  always 
had  a  good  eye  for  the  dollar. 

No  more  came  of  it  until  this  particular  morn 
ing,  some  days  after  Maurice  and  Withrow  had 
quarrelled.  Wesley  Marrs  and  Tommie  Clancy, 
two  men  that  I  never  tired  of  listening  to,  were  on 
the  dock  and  sizing  up  the  new  vessel.  Wesley 
Marrs  was  himself  a  great  fisherman,  and  master 
at  this  time  of  the  wonderful  Lucy  Foster. 

When  she  swings  the  main  boom  over 
And  she  feels  the  wind  abaft, 

2 


The  New  Vessel  of  Withrow's 

The  way  she'll  walk  to  Gloucester*  11 
Make  a  steamer  look  a  raft. 

For  she's  the  Lucy  Foster, 

She's  a  seiner  out  of  Gloucester, — 

was  the  way  the  fishermen  of  the  port  used  to  sing 
about  the  Lucy;  while  Tommie  Clancy  was  Mau 
rice  Blake's  closest  friend. 

With  ballast  stored,  masts  stepped,  rigging  set 
up,  and  sails  bent,  setting  as  sweet  as  could  be  to 
her  lines  and  the  lumpers  beginning  to  get  her 
ready  for  the  mackerel  season,  the  Fred  Withrow 
was  certainly  a  picture. 

After  a  couple  of  extra  long  pulls,  blowing  the 
smoke  into  the  air,  and  another  look  above  and 
below,  "That  one — she'll  sail  some  or  I  don't 
know,"  said  Wesley. 

"She  sure  will,"  said  Tommie;  "and  it's  a 
jeesly  shame  Maurice  isn't  to  have  her."  Then 
turning  to  me,  "What  in  the  devil's  name  ails  that 
man  you  work  for,  Joey?" 

I  said  I  didn't  know. 

"No,  nor  nobody  else  knows.  I'd  like  to  work 
in  that  store  for  him  for  about  ten  minutes.  I 
think  I'd  make  him  say  something  in  that  ten 
minutes  that  would  give  me  a  good  excuse  for 
heaving  him  out  the  window.  He  had  an  argu 
ment  with  Maurice,  Wesley,  and  Maurice  don't 

3 


The  Seiners 

know  what  it  was  half  about,  but  he  knows  he 
came  near  to  punching  Withrow." 

And  Wesley  and  Tommie  had  to  talk  that  out; 
and  between  the  pair  of  them,  thinking  of  what 
they  said,  I  thought  I  ought  to  walk  back  to  the 
store  with  barely  a  civil  look  for  my  employer, 
who  didn't  like  that  at  all,  for  he  generally  wanted 
to  hand  out  the  black  looks  himself. 

Then  the  girls — my  cousin  Nellie  and  her  par 
ticular  chum,  Alice  Foster — came  in  to  weigh 
themselves,  and  also  to  remind  me,  they  said,  that 
I  was  to  take  them  over  to  Essex  the  next  day  for 
the  launching  of  the  new  vessel  for  the  Duncan 
firm,  which  had  been  designed  by  a  friend  of 
Nell's,  a  young  fellow  named  Will  Somers,  who 
was  just  beginning  to  get  a  name  in  Gloucester  for 
fast  and  able  models  of  vessels.  Withrow,  who 
was  not  over-liberal  with  his  holidays,  said  I  might 
go — mostly,  I  suspect,  because  Alice  Foster  had 
said  she  would  not  make  the  trip  without  Nell, 
and  Nell  would  not  go  unless  I  went  too. 

Then  Nell  and  Miss  Foster  went  on  with  the 
business  of  weighing  themselves.  That  was  in 
line  with  the  latest  fad.  It  was  always  something 
or  other,  and  physical  culture  was  in  the  air  at 
this  time  with  every  other  girl  in  Gloucester,  so 
far  as  I  could  see — either  Indian-club  swinging 
or  dumb-bell  drilling,  long  walks,  and  things  of 

4 


The  New  Vessel  of  Withrow's 

that  kind,  and  telling  how  much  better  they  felt 
after  it.  My  cousin  Nell,  who  went  in  for  any 
thing  that  anybody  ever  told  her  about,  was  try 
ing  to  reduce  her  weight.  According  to  some 
perfect-form  charts,  or  something  or  other  on 
printed  sheets,  she  weighed  seven  pounds  more 
than  she  should  for  her  height.  I  thought  she  was 
about  the  right  weight  myself,  and  told  her  so, 
but  she  said  no — she  was  positively  fat.  "Look 
at  Alice,"  she  said,  "she's  just  the  thing." 

I  looked  at  Alice — Miss  Foster  I  always  called 
her  myself — and  certainly  she  was  a  lovely  girl, 
though  perhaps  a  little  too  conscious  of  it.  She 
was  one  of  the  few  that  weren't  going  in  for  any 
thing  that  I  could  see.  She  wasn't  even  weighing 
herself,  or  at  least  she  didn't  until  Mr.  Withrow, 
with  his  company  manners  in  fine  working  order, 
asked  her  if  she  wouldn't  allow  him  to  weigh  her. 

There  were  people  in  town  who  said  it  was 
not  for  nothing  that  Alice  Foster  was  so  chummy 
with  my  cousin  Nell.  They  meant,  of  course,  that 
being  chummy  with  Nell,  who  came  down  regu 
larly  to  see  me,  gave  herself  a  good  excuse  to  come 
along  and  so  have  a  word  with  Withrow.  Fred 
Withrow  himself  was  a  big,  well-built,  handsome 
man — an  unusually  good-looking  man,  I'd  call 
him — and  a  great  heart-breaker,  according  to  re 
port — some  of  it  his  own.  And  he  was  wealthy, 

5 


The  Seiners 

too.  I  did  not  know,  but  somehow  or  other  I  did 
not  believe  it,  or  maybe  it  was  that  I  hoped  rather 
than  believed  that  Miss  Foster  did  not  care  par 
ticularly  for  him;  for  I  did  not  like  him  myself, 
although  I  worked  for  him  and  was  taking  his 
money.  Being  day  in  and  day  out  with  him  in 
the  store,  you  see  I  saw  him  pretty  much  as  he 
really  was,  and  I  hated  to  think  of  a  fine  girl — 
for  with  all  her  cool  ways  I  knew  Miss  Foster  was 
that — marrying  him.  Just  how  Withrow  thought 
he  stood  with  Miss  Foster  I  did  not  know — he 
was  a  pretty  close-mouthed  man  when  he  wanted 
to  be.  Miss  Foster  herself  was  that  reserved  kind 
of  a  girl  that  you  cannot  always  place.  She  struck 
me  as  being  a  girl  that  would  die  before  she  would 
confess  a  weakness  or  a  troublesome  feeling.  And 
yet,  without  knowing  how  it  came  there,  there  was 
always  a  notion  in  the  back  of  my  head  that  made 
me  half-believe  that  she  did  not  come  to  the  store 
with  my  cousin  out  of  pure  companionship.  There 
was  something  besides — and  what  could  it  be  but 
Withrow  ? 

After  the  weighing  was  done  Nell  asked  me  all 
at  once,  "I  hear,  Joe,  that  Captain  Hollis  is  going 
to  have  your  new  vessel?  How  is  that?  We — 
I  thought  that  Captain  Blake  was  going  master 
of  her — and  such  a  pretty  vessel!" 

I  answered  that  I  didn't  know  how  it  was,  and 
6 


The  New  Vessel  of  Withrow's 

looked  over  at  my  employer,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"Maybe  he  can  tell  you." 

I  think  now  that  I  must  have  been  a  pretty 
impudent  lad,  letting  my  employer  know  what  I 
thought  of  him  as  I  did  in  those  days.  I  think, 
too,  he  had  a  pretty  shrewd  notion  of  what  I 
thought  of  himself  and  Maurice  Blake.  At  any 
rate,  after  the  girls  had  gone,  he  worked  himself 
into  a  fine  bit  of  temper,  and  I  talked  back  at  him, 
and  the  end  of  it  was  that  he  discharged  me — or 
I  quit — I'm  not  sure  which.  I  do  know  that  it 
was  rapid-fire  talk  while  it  lasted. 

It  was  some  satisfaction  to  me  to  tell  Withrow 
just  about  what  I  did  think  of  him  before  I  went. 
He  didn't  quite  throw  me  out  of  the  door,  al 
though  he  was  big  enough  for  that;  but  he  looked 
as  if  he  wanted  to.  And  maybe  he  would  have, 
too,  or  tried  it,  only  I  said,  "Mind  I  don't  give 
you  what  Tommie  Clancy  threatened  to  give  you 
once,"  and  his  nerve  went  flat.  I  couldn't  have 
handled  him  as  Clancy  had  any  more  than  I  could 
have  hove  a  barrel  of  salt  mackerel  over  my  head, 
which  was  what  the  strong  fishermen  of  the  port 
were  doing  about  that  time  to  prove  their  strength ; 
but  the  bluff  went,  and  I  couldn't  help  throwing  out 
my  chest  as  I  went  out  the  door  and  thinking  that 
I  was  getting  to  be  a  great  judge  of  human  nature. 


7 


II 

A  LITTLE  JOG  ALONG  THE  DOCKS 

I  WAS  sorry  to  lose  my  job.  I  was  twenty  years 
old,  without  a  trade  or  special  knowledge  of 
any  kind,  and  beyond  the  outfitting  of  fishing  ves 
sels,  knowing  nothing  of  any  business,  and  with 
no  more  than  a  high  school  education — and  that 
two  years  behind  me — and  I  knew  of  no  place  in 
Gloucester  where  I  could  begin  all  over  and  right 
away  get  as  much  pay  as  I  had  left  behind  me.  I 
might  go  to  Boston,  of  course,  and  try  for  some 
thing  there — I  was  not  ten  minutes  out  of  With- 
row's  before  I  thought  of  doing  that.  But  a  little 
further  thought  and  I  knew  there  were  more  capa 
ble  men  than  I  walking  the  streets  of  Boston  look 
ing  for  work.  However,  a  lot  could  happen 
before  I  would  have  to  worry,  and  so  I  decided 
to  take  the  air  and  think  it  over. 

I  might  go  fishing  certainly — I  had  had  a  little 
experience  in  my  school  vacations — if  my  mother 
would  only  stand  for  it.  As  to  that  I  did  not 
know.  If  it  came  to  fishing  or  starving — one  or 
the  other — then  of  course  she  would  have  to  let 
me  go  fishing.  But  my  father  had  been  lost  on  the 

8 


A  Little  Jog  Along  the  Docks 

Grand  Banks  with  his  vessel  and  all  hands — and 
then  one  brother  was  already  fishing.  So  I  hardly 
thought  she  would  allow  me,  and  anyway  I  knew 
she  would  never  have  a  good  night's  rest  while  I 
was  out. 

However,  I  kept  thinking  it  over.  To  get  away 
by  myself  I  took  a  ride  over  to  Essex.  There  I 
knew  I  would  find  half  a  dozen  vessels  on  the 
stocks,  and  there  they  were — the  latest  vessel  for 
the  Duncan  firm  and  three  more  for  other  firms.  I 
knew  one  of  the  ship-carpenters  in  ElwelFs  yard, 
Levi  Woodbury,  and  he  was  telling  me  about  some 
of  the  vessels  that  had  been  launched  lately.  "Of 
course,"  he  said,  uyou  saw  the  one  launched  a  few 
days  ago  from  here — that  one  built  for  Mr.  With- 
row?" 

I  said  I  had,  and  that  she  was  a  wonder  to  look 
at  and  that  I  wished  Maurice  Blake,  and  not  Sam 
Hollis,  was  to  have  her. 

"Yes,"  said  Levi,  "and  a  pity.  Maurice  Blake 
could  have  sailed  her  right,  though  for  that  matter 
Sam  Hollis  is  a  clever  hand  to  sail  a  vessel,  too. 
And  she  ought  to  sail  some,  that  vessel.  But  look 
here  at  this  one  for  the  Duncans  and  to  be  launched 
to-morrow.  Designed  by  Will  Somers — know 
him?  Yes?  A  nice  young  fellow.  Ain't  she 
able-looking?" 

She  certainly  was,  and  handsome,  and  Levi  went 
9 


The  Seiners 

on  to  tell  me  about  her.  He  showed  me  where  she 
was  like  and  where  she  differed  from  the  Lucy  Fos 
ter,  the  Fred  Withrow,  the  Nannie  O,  the  Colleen 
Bawn,  and  the  others  which  were  then  causing  trou 
ble  in  Gloucester  with  crews  fighting  over  their  good 
qualities.  I  did  not  know  a  whole  lot  about  ves 
sels,  but  having  been  born  in  Gloucester  and  hav 
ing  soaked  in  the  atmosphere  all  my  life  and  loving 
vessels  besides,  I  had  a  lot  of  notions  about  them. 
And  I  liked  this  last  Duncan  vessel.  By  the  wind 
and  in  a  sea-way,  it  struck  me  she  would  be  a  won 
der.  There  was  something  more  than  just  the  fine 
lines  of  her.  There  is  that  about  vessels.  You 
can  take  two  vessels,  model  them  alike,  rig  them 
alike,  handle  them  alike,  and  still  one  will  sail 
rings  around  the  other.  And  why  is  it?  I've 
heard  a  hundred  fishermen  at  different  times  say 
that  and  then  ask,  Why  is  it?  This  one  was  aw 
fully  sharp  forward,  too  sharp  some  might  have 
said,  with  little  more  forefoot  than  most  of  the 
late-built  flyers ;  but  she  was  deep  and  had  a  quar 
ter  that  I  knew  would  stand  up  under  her  sail.  I 
liked  the  after-part  of  her.  Racing  machines  are 
all  right  for  a  few  months  or  a  year  or  two  and 
in  smooth  water,  but  give  me  a  vessel  that  can 
stand  up  under  sail.  I  thought  I  could  see  where, 
if  they  gave  her  sail  enough,  especially  aft,  and  a 
skipper  that  would  drive  her,  she  might  do  great 

10 


A  Little  Jog  Along  the  Docks 

things.  And  certainly  she  ought  to  be  a  comfort 
in  a  blow  and  bring  a  fellow  home — and  there's 
a  whole  lot  in  that — being  in  a  vessel  that  you 
feel  will  bring  you  home  again. 

I  looked  over  the  others,  but  none  of  them  held 
me  like  the  Duncan  vessel,  and  I  soon  came  back 
to  Gloucester  and  took  a  walk  along  the  water 
front. 

It  was  well  into  March  at  this  time — the  third 
week  in  March,  I  remember — and  there  was  a 
great  business  doing  along  the  docks.  The  salt 
bankers  were  almost  ready  to  leave — twenty-eight 
or  thirty  sail  fitting  out  for  the  Grand  Banks.  And 
then  there  were  the  seiners — the  mackerel  catchers 
— seventy  or  eighty  sail  of  them  making  ready  for 
the  Southern  cruise.  All  that  meant  that  things 
would  be  humming  for  a  while.  So  I  took  a  walk 
along  the  docks  to  see  it. 

Most  of  the  vessels  that  had  been  fishing  during 
the  winter  had  been  stripped  of  their  winter  sails, 
and  now  aboard  these  they  were  bending  on  the 
summer  suits  and  slinging  up  what  top  spars  had 
not  already  been  sent  up.  For  the  vessels  that 
had  been  laid  up  all  winter  and  stripped  of  every 
thing,  they  were  getting  out  the  gear  from  the 
lofts.  Everywhere  it  was  topmasts  being  sent  up, 
sails  being  dragged  out,  stays  swayed  taut,  hal 
yards  and  sheets  rove — an  overhauling  generally. 

n 


The  Seiners 

On  the  railways — Burnham's,  Parkhurst's,  and 
Tarr's — were  vessels  having  their  bottoms 
scrubbed  and  painted  and  their  topsides  lined  out. 
And  they  all  looked  so  handsome  and  smelt  so  fine 
with  their  riggings  being  tarred,  not  with  the 
smoky  tar  that  people  ashore  put  on  house-roofs, 
but  the  fine  rich-smelling  tar  that  goes  into  vessels' 
rigging;  and  there  was  the  black  and  dark  sea- 
green  paint  for  the  sides,  with  the  gold  or  yellow 
or  sometimes  red  stripe  to  mark  the  run,  and  main 
and  quarter  rails  being  varnished. 

And  the  seine-boats !  If  there  is  anything  afloat 
that  sets  more  easily  on  the  water  than  a  seine-boat 
I  never  saw  it,  unless  it  might  be  a  birch-bark 
canoe — and  who'd  want  to  be  caught  out  in  a  blow 
in  a  canoe?  The  seine-boats  all  looked  as  natural 
as  so  many  sea-gulls — thirty-six  or  thirty-eight  feet 
long,  green  or  blue  bottoms  to  just  above  the  water- 
line  so  that  it  would  show,  and  above  that  all  clear 
white  except  for  the  blue  or  red  or  yellow  or  green 
decorations  that  some  skippers  liked.  And  the 
seines  that  went  with  them  were  coming  in  wagons 
from  the  net  and  twine  factory,  tanned  brown  or 
tarred  black  and  all  ready  to  be  hauled  on  to  the 
vessels'  decks  or  stowed  in  the  holds  below,  until 
the  fleet  should  be  in  among  the  mackerel  to  the 
south'ard — off  Hatteras  or  Cape  May  or  some 
where  down  that  way. 

12 


A  Little  Jog  Along  the  Docks 

To  feel  all  that  and  the  rest  of  it — to  walk  to 
the  tops  of  your  shoes  in  pine  chips  in  the  spar 
yards,  to  measure  the  lengths  of  booms  and  gaffs 
for  yourself  if  you  weren't  sure  who  were  going  to 
spread  the  big  mainsails,  to  go  up  in  the  sail-lofts 
and  see  the  sailmakers,  bench  after  bench  of  them, 
making  their  needles  and  the  long  waxed  threads 
fly  through  the  canvas  that  it  seemed  a  pity  wasn't 
to  stay  so  white  forever — to  see  them  spread  the 
canvas  out  along  the  chalk  lines  on  the  varnished 
floor,  fixing  leach  and  luff  ropes  to  them  and  put 
ting  the  leather-bound  cringles  in,  and  putting 
them  in  too  so  they'd  stay,  for  by  and  by  men's 
lives  would  depend  on  the  way  they  hung  on — all 
that,  railways,  sail-lofts,  vessels,  boats,  docks  alive 
with  men  jumping  to  their  work — skippers,  crews, 
carpenters,  riggers,  lumpers,  all  thinking,  talking, 
and,  I  suppose,  dreaming  of  the  season's  work 
ahead — m-m — there  was  life  for  a  man!  Who'd 
want  to  work  in  a  store  after  that? 

I  stopped  at  Duncan's  wharf  and  looked  at 
Wesley  Marrs's  vessel,  the  Lucy  Foster,  and  then 
the  Colleen  Bawn. 


And  O'Donnell  drove  the  Colleen  like  a  ghost  through  all  that 

gale, 
And  around  'twas  roaring  mountains  and  above  'twas  blinding 

hail, 

13 


The  Seiners 

and  so  on.    And  the  Nannie  O,  another  vessel  that 
fishermen  sang  songs  about. 

Oh,  the  lovely  Nannie  O, 

The  able  Nannie  O, 

The  Nannie  O  a-drivin*  through  the  gale. 

They  were  lying  there,  tied  to  the  docks.  They 
were  all  dreams,  so  long  and  clean,  with  the  beau 
tiful  sheer  fore  and  aft,  and  the  overhang  of  the 
racers  they  were  meant  to  be — the  gold  run,  with 
the  grain  of  the  varnished  oak  rails  shining  above 
the  night-black  of  their  topsides,  and  varnished 
spars.  They  had  the  look  of  vessels  that  could 
sail — and  they  could,  and  live  out  a  gale — nothing 
like  them  afloat  I'd  heard  people  say  that  ought 
to  know. 

I  walked  along  another  stretch  and  at  With- 
row's  dock  I  saw  again  the  new  one  that  had  been 
built  for  Maurice  Blake  but  given  to  Sam  Hollis, 
who  was  a  boon  companion  of  Withrow's  ashore, 
as  I  may  have  said  already.  Hollis's  gang  were 
bragging  even  now  that  she'd  trim  anything  that 
ever  sailed — the  Lucy  Foster,  the  Nannie  O,  the 
Colleen  Bawn,  and  all  the  rest  of  them.  And 
there  were  some  old  sharks,  too,  upon  the  docks 
who  said  they  didn't  know  but  she  looked  as  if  she 
could.  But  a  lot  of  other  people  didn't  think  it — 
she  was  all  right  as  a  vessel,  but  Sam  Hollis  wasn't 

14 


A  Little  Jog  Along  the  Docks 

a  Wesley  Marrs,  nor  a  Tom  O'Donnell,  nor  a 
Tommie  Ohlsen,  nor  even  a  Maurice  Blake,  who 
was  a  much  younger  man  and  a  less  experienced 
fisherman  than  any  of  the  others. 

All  that,  with  the  vessels  anchored  in  the  stream 
and  the  little  dories  running  up  and  down  and  in  and 
out — it  all  brought  back  again  the  trips  I'd  made 
with  my  father,  clear  back  to  the  time  when  I  was 
a  little  boy,  so  small  that  in  heavy  weather  he 
wouldn't  trust  me  to  go  forward  or  aft  myself,  but 
would  carry  me  in  his  arms  himself — it  all  made 
me  so  long  for  the  sea  that  my  head  went  round 
and  I  found  myself  staggering  like  a  drunken  man 
as  I  tried  to  walk  away  from  it. 


Ill 

MINNIE   ARKELL 

THERE  was  nothing  for  it.  For  a  thousand 
dollars  a  month  I  could  not  stay  ashore. 
Somebody  or  other  would  give  me  a  chance  to  go 
seining,  some  good  skipper  I  knew;  and  if  none  of 
the  killers  would  give  me  a  chance,  then  I'd  try 
some  old  pod  of  a  skipper.  My  mother  would  just 
have  to  let  me  go.  It  was  only  summer  fishing 
after  all — seining  wasn't  like  winter  trawling — 
and  in  the  end  she  would  see  it  as  I  did. 

I  walked  along,  and  as  the  last  man  in  my  mind 
was  Maurice  Blake,  of  course  he  was  the  first  I 
had  to  run  into.  He  was  not  looking  well ;  I  mean 
he  was  not  looking  as  he  should  have  looked. 
There  was  a  reckless  manner  about  him  that  no 
more  belonged  to  him  than  a  regularly  quiet  man 
ner  belonged  to  his  friend  Tommie  Clancy.  And 
I  guessed  why — he  had  been  drinking.  I  had 
heard  it  already.  Generally  when  a  man  starts  to 
drink  for  the  first  time  everybody  talks  about  it. 
I  was  suprised,  and  I  wished  he  hadn't.  But  we 
are  always  finding  out  new  things  about  men.  In 

16 


Minnie  Arkell 

my  heart  I  was  not  blaming  Maurice  so  much  may 
be  as  I  should.  I'd  always  been  taught  that  drink 
ing  in  excess  was  an  awful  habit,  but  some  other 
wise  fine  men  I  knew  drank  at  times,  and  I  wasn't 
going  to  blame  Maurice  till  I  knew  more  about  it. 

And  we  can  forgive  a  lot,  too,  in  those  we  like. 
Maurice  had  no  family  to  think  of,  and  it  must 
have  been  a  blow  to  him  not  to  get  so  fine  a  vessel 
as  the  Fred  Withrow  after  he  had  been  promised 
and  had  set  his  heart  on  it.  And  then  to  see  her 
go  to  a  man  like  Sam  Hollis !  and  with  the  prospect 
of  not  getting  another  until  a  man  like  Withrow 
felt  like  saying  you  could.  Everybody  in  Glouces 
ter  seemed  to  know  that  Withrow  was  doing  all  he 
could  to  keep  Maurice  from  getting  a  vessel,  and 
as  the  owners  had  banded  together  just  before  this 
for  protection,  as  they  called  it,  "against  outside 
interference,"  and  as  Withrow  was  one  of  the 
largest  owners  and  a  man  of  influence  beyond  his 
vessel  holdings,  he  was  quite  a  power  at  this  time. 

Maurice  Blake  was  far  from  being  drunk,  how 
ever,  when  I  met  him  this  day.  Indeed,  I  do  not 
believe  that  in  his  most  reckless  hour  up  to  this 
time  he  had  ever  lost  control  of  himself  so  far  as 
not  to  know  pretty  nearly  what  he  was  doing  all 
the  time;  but  certainly  he  had  been  drinking  this 
day,  and  the  drinking  manner  did  not  set  well  on 
him. 


The  Seiners 

Maurice  was  standing  on  the  front  steps  of 
Mrs.  Arkell's  boarding-house  when  I  saw  him,  It 
was  Mrs.  Arkell's  granddaughter  Minnie  that 
married  the  wealthy  Mr.  Miner — a  rather  loud 
sort  of  man,  who  had  been  reported  as  saying  that 
he  would  give  her  a  good  time  and  show  her  life. 
He  may  have  given  her  a  good  time — I  don't 
know — but  he  was  dead  in  two  years.  He  was 
supposed  to  be  very  rich — three  or  four  millions — 
but  on  settling  up  there  was  less  than  half  a  mil 
lion.  Of  course  that  wasn't  bad — enough  for 
Minnie  to  buy  a  big  house  next  her  grandmother's 
for  a  summer  home,  and  enough  to  go  off  trav 
elling  whenever  she  pleased. 

When  she  came  back  to  Gloucester  she  was  still 
a  very  handsome  girl,  spoken  of  as  the  "Miner 
widow"  among  people  who  had  known  her  only 
since  her  marriage,  but  still  called  Minnie  Arkell 
by  most  of  those  who  had  known  her  when  she 
was  a  child.  In  Gloucester  she  bought  the  first 
house  just  around  the  corner  from  her  grand 
mother's.  A  handy  passage  between  their  two 
back  yards  allowed  her  to  visit  her  grandmother 
whenever  she  pleased.  She  wanted  to  be  near  her 
own  people,  she  said,  and  was  more  in  her  grand 
mother's  house  than  her  own. 

Maurice  came  down  the  steps  of  Mrs.  Arkell's 
boarding-house  as  I  came  along,  and  joined  me  on 

18 


Minnie  Arkell 

the  sidewalk.  He  asked  me  the  first  thing  if  I 
wouldn't  have  a  drink,  and  I  said  no. 

"Oh,  I  forgot,"  he  said,  "you  don't  drink. 
Have  a  cigar,"  and  he  pulled  one  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  I  took  and  lit  it.  Generally  I  smoked  a  pipe, 
but  I  liked  good  cigars,  though  I  couldn't  afford 
them  myself.  This  was  not  a  good  one — more 
like  the  kind  they  hand  out  in  bar-rooms  when 
men  get  tired  of  drinking  and  say  they  guess  they'll 
have  a  smoke. 

"How  does  it  happen,  Joe,  you're  not  at  the 
store?  I  always  thought  Withrow  held  his  men 
pretty  close  to  hours." 

"Well,  so  he  does,  but  I'm  not  working  for  him 
now."  And  then  I  told  him  that  I  had  had  an 
argument  with  Withrow,  been  discharged,  and 
was  thinking  of  going  fishing.  I  didn't  tell  him  at 
first  how  it  all  came  about,  but  I  think  he  guessed 
it,  for  all  at  once,  after  a  searching  look,  he 
reached  out  and  shook  hands  with  me. 

"If  ever  I  get  a  vessel  again,  Joe,  and  you  still 
want  to  go  fishing  and  care  for  a  chance  with  me, 
you  can  have  it — if  you  can't  go  with  a  better  man, 
I  mean.  I'll  take  you  and  be  glad  to  have  you." 

That  meant  a  good  berth,  of  course,  for  Mau 
rice  was  a  killer. 

I  looked  at  Maurice  when  he  wasn't  watching 
me,  and  felt  sorry  for  him.  He  was  a  man  that 

19 


The  Seiners 

anybody  would  like  the  looks  of.  It  wasn't  that 
he  was  a  handsome  man — I  never  could  get  to  like 
pretty  men  myself — but  there  was  something  about 
him  that  made  you  feel  you  could  trust  him.  The 
heavy  tan  of  his  face  and  the  grip  of  his  jaw 
would  spoil  almost  anybody  for  a  beauty  man,  I 
suppose,  but  he  had  fine  eyes  and  his  mouth  was 
all  right,  and  he  had  a  head  that  you'd  like  to 
stand  off  one  side  and  look  at,  with  hair  that 
seemed  to  lift  and  wave  with  every  breath  of 
wind,  and  when  he  smiled  you  felt  somehow  that 
he'd  saved  that  particular  smile  for  you.  He  was 
no  better  built  than  a  hundred  other  men  I  knew 
who  were  going  fishing,  and  he  was  no  bigger  than 
a  thousand  others  sailing  out  of  Gloucester,  and 
not  near  so  big  as  a  lot  of  others — five  feet  ten 
or  eleven,  maybe,  he  was,  with  level  shoulders,  and 
very  light  on  his  feet — but  looking  at  him  you 
knew  he  was  all  there. 

After  smoking  a  while  and  watching  him  be 
tween  puffs,  it  flashed  on  me  all  at  once  that  I  was 
pretty  thick.  A  word  or  two  my  cousin  Nell  had 
let  slip — not  so  much  what  she  said  as  the  way  she 
said  it — gave  me  a  hint  of  a  whole  lot  of  things. 
Looking  at  Maurice  now  I  asked  him  if  he  had 
seen  my  cousin  or  Miss  Foster  lately. 

He  flushed  up  as  he  looked  at  me,  and  I  saw 
that  whatever  he  was  thinking  of  it  had  not  been 

20 


Minnie  Arkell 

far  away  from  what  I  had  been  thinking  of.  "No, 
I  haven't  seen  them" — slowly.  "How  is  your 
cousin?" 

"Oh,  she  seems  to  be  all  right.  They  were  both 
in  to  the  store  this  morning." 

"What  doing?"  I  thought  he  was  beginning  to 
worry,  but  I  tried  not  to  let  on  that  I  noticed  it. 
I  was  beginning  to  feel  like  a  sleuth,  or  a  detec 
tive,  or  a  diplomat,  or  something. 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  Nell  said  they  came  in 
to  see  me,  but  all  that  happened  that  I  had  any 
hand  in  was  to  weigh  her.  She  gained  another 
pound  last  week,  and  it's  worrying  her.  The 
more  exercise  she  takes  the  heavier  she  gets,  she 
says.  She's  a  hundred  and  thirty-one  now.  Of 
course,  while  they're  there  Withrow  had  to  help 
out  and  make  himself  agreeable,  especially  to 
Miss  Foster,  but  I  can't  see  that  she  warms  up  to 
him." 

"Ha?    No?    You  don't  think  so?" 

"Not  much,  but  maybe  it's  her  way.  She's 
pretty  frosty  generally  anyway,  different  from  my 
cousin — she's  something  like." 

"Yes,  your  cousin  is  all  right,"  said  Maurice. 

"You  bet,"  I  said.  "She  don't  stand  around 
and  chill  the  air." 

"Why — does  Miss  Foster  always?  Is  that  her 
way?  I — don't — know — much  about  her." 

21 


The  Seiners 

"Well,  I  don't  know  so  very  much  myself — 
mostly  what  my  cousin  tells  me.  Still,  I  guess 
she's  all  right;  but  she  strikes  me  as  one  of  the 
kind  that  might  make  an  awful  lot  of  a  man  and 
never  let  on  until  she  was  dead  sure  of  him." 

"H-m —  That  means  she  could  think  a  whole 
lot  of  Withrow  and  not  let  on,  Joe?" 

I  tried  to  look  at  Maurice  like  my  oldest 
brother  used  to  look  at  me  sometimes  when  he 
tried  to  make  me  feel  that  I  was  a  very  green  kid 
indeed,  and  said,  "Well,  if  she's  the  kind  to  care 
for  a  man  like  Withrow,  all  I've  got  to  say  is  that 
she'll  deserve  all  she'll  get.  He's  no  good." 

"That  may  be,  but  how's  she  to  know?  I 
know,  you  know,  and  half  the  men  in  Gloucester 
know  that  he's  rotten ;  but  take  a  woman  who  only 
sees  him  at  his  best  and  when  he's  watching  out — 
how's  she  to  know?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  being  a  woman  she  ought 
to,"  was  all  I  could  say  to  that.  It  came  into  my 
mind  just  then  that  when  I  next  saw  my  cousin 
Nell  I'd  tell  her  what  I  really  knew,  and  more 
than  that — what  I  really  thought  of  my  old  em 
ployer.  Perhaps  she'd  carry  it  to  Miss  Foster. 
If  it  was  to  be  Maurice  or  Withrow,  I  knew  on 
which  side  I  was  going  to  be. 

Both  of  us  were  quiet  then,  neither  of  us  quite 
knowing  what  to  say  perhaps.  Then  together  we 

22 


Minnie  Arkell 

started  to  walk  to  the  corner  of  the  side  street. 
We  were  past  the  side-door  of  the  boarding- 
house  when  a  voice  called  out,  "Oh,  Maurice,"  and 
then,  maybe  noticing  me,  I  suppose,  "Oh,  Captain 
Blake,"  and  Maurice  turned.  Minnie  Arkell — 
Mrs.  Miner  rather — was  there  at  the  kitchen 
window.  I  didn't  know  she  was  in  town  at  all — 
thought  she  hadn't  got  back  from  Florida,  or 
North  Carolina,  or  wherever  it  was  she  had  been 
for  the  winter. 

"Won't  you  come  in  a  minute,  Captain,  and 
your  friend?  He  doesn't  remember  me — do  you, 
Joe? — and  yet  we  were  playmates  once,"  which 
was  true.  I  was  often  taken  to  Mrs.  Arkell's 
when  a  little  fellow  by  skippers  who  were  friends 
of  my  father's.  They  used  to  tell  me  about  him, 
and  I  liked  to  listen. 

"I  thought  I'd  run  over  and  see  granny,"  she 
went  on.  "I'm  back  to  the  old  house  for  a  while. 
Won't  you  come  in?" 

My  mind  had  long  been  set  against  Minnie 
Arkell.  I  knew  about  her  throwing  over  a  fine 
young  fellow,  a  promising  skipper,  to  marry 
Miner.  I  may  have  been  too  young  at  the  time 
to  judge  anybody,  but  after  that  I  had  small 
use  for  her.  My  ideas  in  the  matter  were  of 
course  pretty  much  what  older  men  had  put  into 
me. 

33 


The  Seiners 

I  had  listened  to  them — skippers  and  others — 
and  yet  now,  when  she  held  out  her  hand  to  me 
and  smiled,  I  didn't  feel  nearly  so  set  against  her. 
She  certainly  was  a  handsome  girl,  and  yet  I  hoped 
that  Maurice  wouldn't  fall  in  love  with  her,  as 
most  everybody  did  that  came  to  the  Arkell  house. 

I  said  that  I  did  not  have  time  to  come  in,  and 
started  to  make  off.  Maurice  asked  me  where  I 
was  bound.  I  told  him  that  I  thought  of  taking 
a  look  in  at  Crow's  Nest  and  getting  the  news. 

"Yes,  you'll  get  it  there,  sure  enough.  When 
they  can't  tell  you  anything  else  up  there  they  can 
tell  you  what  everybody's  doing."  He  smiled  at 
that,  turned  slowly  toward  the  side-door,  as  if  he 
would  rather  go  with  me  to  Crow's  Nest,  and  I 
went  off. 

Just  outside  the  gate  I  saw  Sam  Hollis,  a  man 
I  never  did  like.  Tommie  Clancy,  the  man  that 
could  size  up  a  person  quicker  than  anybody  I'd 
ever  met,  used  to  say  that  deep  down,  if  you  could 
get  at  Hollis,  you'd  find  a  quitter,  but  that  nobody 
had  ever  got  into  him.  I'd  been  meeting  Hollis 
after  every  trip  in  for  two  years  in  Withrow's 
store.  He  was  a  successful  fisherman,  and  a 
sharp,  keen  man  ashore,  but  he  was  a  man  I  never 
quite  took  to.  One  of  his  ambitions,  I  felt  satis 
fied,  was  to  be  reckoned  a  devil  of  a  fellow.  He'd 
have  given  a  year's  earnings,  I  knew,  to  have  peo- 


Minnie  Arkell 

pie  point  him  out  on  the  street  and  say,  "There's 
Sam  Hollis — there's  the  boy  to  carry  sail — nobody 
ever  made  him  take  his  mains'l  in,"  the  same  as 
they  used  to  say  of  a  half  dozen  or  so  that  really 
would  carry  sail — that  would  drive  a  vessel  under 
before  they  would  be  the  first  to  reef.  But  the 
people  didn't  do  that,  although,  let  him  tell  it,  he 
did  wonderful  things  out  to  sea,  and  he  had  such 
a  way  of  telling  it,  too,  that  he'd  almost  make  you 
believe  him.  But  as  Clancy  used  to  say,  after  he'd 
left  you,  and  you  had  time  to  think  it  over,  you'd 
see  where  here  and  there  his  story  wasn't  well- 
calked.  My  own  idea  was  that  he  wanted  a  repu 
tation  so  that  he  could  pose  as  a  devil  of  a  fellow 
with  certain  people  ashore.  It  is  easy  enough  to 
see  that  even  a  more  careful  man  than  Sam  Hollis 
might  take  a  chance  for  a  smile  from  a  woman 
like  Minnie  Arkell. 

Anyhow,  I  never  felt  at  home  with  Hollis,  and 
so  was  willing  to  take  Clancy's  judgment  straight. 
Hollis  was  a  man  about  forty,  and  had  been  one 
of  Minnie  Arkell's  admirers  ever  since  I  could  re 
member — ever  since  she  was  old  enough  to  have 
any,  I  mean,  and  she  wasn't  any  late  bloomer,  as 
Clancy  used  to  say. 

Hollis  went  into  the  Arkell  house  by  the  door 
that  had  only  just  closed  behind  Maurice  and  Min 
nie  Arkell.  I  didn't  like  that  very  much,  and  was 

25 


The  Seiners 

thinking  of  turning  back  and  going  in,  too;  but 
on  second  thought  it  occurred  to  me  that  perhaps 
only  Maurice  would  have  a  welcome  for  me.  So  I 
didn't  enter,  but  kept  on  to  Crow's  Nest  instead. 


IV 

LITTLE  JOHNNIE  DUNCAN  STANDS  EXAMINATION 

BY  this  time  I  should  have  gone  home,  I  sup 
pose,  and  had  something  to  eat — it  was 
getting  on  into  the  afternoon — but  I  didn't  want 
to  have  a  talk  with  my  mother  yet  awhile,  and  so 
kept  on  to  Crow's  Nest,  where  I  found  half  a 
dozen  good-natured  loafers.  Not  all  were  loafers 
exactly — three  or  four  were  simply  waiting  around 
before  shipping  on  some  seiner  for  the  mackerel 
season.  It  promised  to  shower  at  the  time,  too, 
and  of  course  the  gentlemen  who  formed  old 
Peter's  staff  could  not  think  of  venturing  out  in 
threatening  weather. 

And  there  they  were,  with  Peter  Hines,  the  paid 
man  in  charge  of  Crow's  Nest,  keeping  a  benev 
olent  eye  on  them.  Yarning,  arguing,  skylarking, 
advising  Peter,  and  having  fun  with  little  Johnnie 
Duncan  they  were  when  I  entered.  Johnnie  was 
the  grandson  of  the  head  of  the  Duncan  firm,  a 
fine,  clear-eyed  boy,  that  nobody  could  help  lik 
ing.  He  thought  fishermen  were  the  greatest  peo 
ple  in  the  world.  Whatever  a  fisherman  did  was 
all  right  to  Johnnie. 

27 


The  Seiners 

I  had  got  all  the  news  at  Crow's  Nest  and  was 
just  thinking  of  moving  along  toward  home  when 
Tommie  Clancy  popped  in.  Of  course  that  made 
a  difference.  I  wasn't  going  to  move  while  Clancy 
was  around. 

"My  soul,  but  here's  where  the  real  gentlemen 
are,"  he  had  to  say  first,  and  then,  "Anybody  seen 
Maurice  to-day?" 

I  told  him  I  had,  and  where. 

"Anybody  with  him?" 

"Well,  not  with  him  exactly."  I  shook  my  head, 
and  said  nothing  of  Minnie  Arkell,  nor  of  Sam 
Hollis,  although  Clancy,  looking  at  me,  I  could 
see,  guessed  that  there  was  something  else ;  and  he 
might  have  asked  me  something  more  only  for  the 
crowd  and  little  Johnnie  Duncan. 

Johnnie  was  trying  to  climb  up  onto  Clancy, 
and  so  Clancy,  turning  from  me,  took  Johnnie  up 
and  gave  him  a  toss  that  all  but  hit  his  head  against 
the  roof.  "And  how's  she  heading,  Johnnie- 
boy?"  and  taking  a  seat  stood  Johnnie  up  beside 
him. 

"East-s'uth-east,  and  a  fair,  fair  wind,"  an 
swered  Johnnie. 

"East-s'uth-east — my,  but  you  said  that  fine. 
And  a  fair  wind?  Must  be  bound  Georges 
Bank  way.  And  how  long  will  you  hold  that 
course?" 

28 


Johnnie  Duncan  Stands  Examination 

"From  Eastern  Point — a  hundred  and  thirty- 
five  mile." 

"Yes— and  then?" 

"Then  you  throw  her  up  and  heave  the  lead." 

"And  heave  the  lead  —  sure  enough.  And 
then?" 

"And  then,  if  you  find  you're  clear  of  the  North 
Shoal,  you  put  her  to  the  s'uth'ard  and  west'ard 
till  you're  in  onto  the  Bank." 

"S'uth'ard  and  west'ard — that's  the  boy.  Man, 
but  I'll  live  to  see  you  going  to  the  Custom  House 
and  taking  out  your  master's  papers  yet." 

"And  can  I  join  the  Master  Mariners  then?" 

"That's  what  you  can,  and  walk  down  Main 
Street  with  a  swing  to  your  shoulders,  too.  And 
now  you're  up  on  the  Bank  and  twenty-five  fathom 
of  water  and  the  right  bottom — and  you're  a  hand- 
liner,  say,  after  cod — what  then?" 

"Let  go  her  chain  and  begin  fishing." 

"And  would  you  give  her  a  short  or  a  long 
string  of  cable?" 

"M-m — I'm  not  sure.  A  long  string  you'd 
hang  on  better,  but  a  short  scope  and  you  could 
get  out  faster  in  case  you  were  dragging  and  go 
ing  onto  the  shoals.  What  would  you  do,  Cap 
tain  Clancy?  You  never  told  me  that,  did  you?" 

"Well,  it  would  depend,  too,  though  handliners 
generally  calculate  on  hanging  on,  blow  how  it 

29 


The  Seiners 

will.  But  never  mind  that;  suppose  your  anchor 
dragged  or  parted  and  into  the  shoal  water  you 
went  in  a  gale,  an  easterly,  say — and  the  bank 
right  under  your  lee — wind  sixty  or  seventy  or 
eighty  mile  an  hour — what  would  you  do?" 

"Anchor  not  hold?  M-m —  Then  I'd — give 
her  the  second  one." 

"And  if  that  dragged,  too — or  parted?" 

"Both  of  'em?  M-m" — Johnnie  was  taking 
deep  breaths  now — "why,  then  I'd  have  to  put 
sail  to  her " 

"What  sail?" 

"Why,  jib,  jumbo,  fore  and  main." 

"And  the  wind  blowing  eighty  mile  an  hour?" 

"Why,  yes,  if  she'd  stand  it." 

"My,  but  she'd  have  to  be  an  able  vessel  that — 
all  four  lowers  and  the  wind  blowing  eighty  mile 
an  hour.  Man,  but  you're  a  dog!  Suppose  she 
couldn't  stand  it?" 

"Then  I'd  reef  the  mains'l." 

"And  if  that  was  too  much — what  then?" 

"Reef  it  again." 

"And  too  much  yet?" 

"Balance-reef  it — maybe  take  it  in  altogether 
— and  the  jib  with  it,  and  get  out  the  riding-sail." 

"And  would  you  do  nothing  to  the  fores'l?" 

"M-m —  I  dunno — with  some  vessels  maybe 
I'd  reef  that,  too — maybe  take  it  in  altogether." 


Johnnie  Duncan  Stands  Examination 

"My,  but  you're  cert'nly  a  dog.  And  what 
then?" 

"Why,  then  I'd  try  to  work  her  out" 

"And  would  you  be  doing  anything  with  the 
lead?" 

"Oh,  we'd  be  keeping  the  lead  going  all  the 
time,  for  banging  her  across  and  back  like  that 
you  wouldn't  know  where  you  were  just." 

"And  would  you  come  clear,  d'y'  think?" 

"Yes,  sir — if  the  gear  held  and  with  an  able 
vessel  we  ought  to." 

"If  the  gear  held — that's  it.  Be  sure,  Johnnie- 
boy,  you  see  that  the  gear  is  all  right  before  ever 
you  leave  port.  And  with  an  able  vessel,  you  say  ? 
With  that  new  one  of  your  gran'pa's — would  you 
come  clear  with  her?" 

"Oh,  she'd  come  clear — built  to  go  fresh  hali- 
buting  next  winter,  that  one." 

"Yes — and  seining  this  spring.  But  suppose 
now  you  were  haddocking — trawling — eight  or 
ten  dories,  and  you  just  arrived  on  the  grounds, 
picked  out  a  good  spot,  and  there  you  are — you're 
all  baited  up  and  ready?" 

"Winter  time?" 

"Winter  time,  yes." 

"First  I'd  single-reef  the  mains'l.  Then  I'd 
hold  her  up  a  little — not  too  much — me  being 
skipper  would  be  to  the  wheel  myself — and  then 


The  Seiners 

I'd  give  the  order,  'Dories  to  the  rail!'  and  then, 
when  everything  was  all  right — when  I'd  be  sat 
isfied  we  wouldn't  foul  the  next  vessel's  trawls — 
I'd  call  out,  'Over  with  your  wind'ard  dory !' ' 

"Loud  and  clear  you'd  holler,  because  the  wind 
might  be  high." 

"Loud  and  clear,  yes — 'Let  go  your  wind'ard 
dory!' — like  that.  And  'Set  to  the  west'ard,'  or 
the  east'ard,  whatever  it  was — according  to  the 
tide,  you  know.  I'd  call  that  out  to  the  dory  as 
it  went  sliding  by  the  quarter — the  vessel,  of 
course,  'd  be  sailing  all  the  time — and  next, 
'Wind'ard  dory  to  the  rail!'  And  then,  when 
we'd  gone  ahead  enough,  again,  'Let  go  your 
looard  dory!'  and  then,  'Looard  dory  to  the  rail! 
Let  go  your  wind'ard  dory!  Let  go  your  looard 
dory!'  and  so  till  they  were  all  over  the  side." 

"And  supposing,  they  being  all  out,  it  came  on 
thick,  or  snowing,  and  some  of  them  went  astray, 
and  it  was  time  to  go  home,  having  filled  her  with 
eighty  or  ninety  or  a  hundred  thousand  of  fresh 
fish,  a  fair  wind,  and  every  prospect  of  a  good 
market — what  then?" 

"Oh,  I'd  have  to  wait,  of  course — cruise  around 
and  stand  by." 

"And  suppose  you  couldn't  find  them  again?" 

"Why,  after  waiting  until  I  was  sure  they  were 
gone,  I'd  come  home." 

3* 


Johnnie  Duncan  Stands  Examination 

"And  your  flag?" 

"Half-mast." 

"Half-mast — that's  it.  I  hope  you'll  never 
have  to  fly  a  half-masted  flag,  Johnnie.  But  sup 
pose  you  did  see  them,  and  they  were  in  shoal 
water,  say — and  the  shoals  to  looard,  of  course, 
and  it  blowing " 

"I'd  stand  in  and  get  them." 

"And  it  blowing  hard — blowing  hard,  John 
nie? — and  shoal — shoal  water?" 

"Why" — Johnnie  was  looking  troubled — "why, 
I'd  have  to  stand  in  just  the  same,  wouldn't  I?" 

"Your  own  men  and  you  ask  me,  Johnnie-boy?" 

"Why,  of  course  I'd  have  to  stand  in  and  get 
them." 

"And  if  you  got  in  so  far  you  couldn't  get  out 
— you  got  smothered,  say?" 

"Why,  then — then  we'd  be  lost — all  hands 
would  be  lost." 

Poor  Johnnie !  he  was  all  but  crying. 

"That's  it.  And  that's  where  some  would  say 
you  showed  yourself  a  man,  and  some  a  fool, 
Johnnie-boy.  Some  would  say,  'Use  judgment — 
think  of  the  other  eighteen  or  twenty  men  safe 
aboard  the  vessel.'  Would  you  use  judgment,  or 
what,  Johnnie?" 

"M-m —  I  don't  know.  What  would  you  do, 
Captain  Clancy?" 

33 


The  Seiners 

"What  d'y'  think  I'd  do,  Johnnie?"  Clancy 
drew  the  boy  up  and  tucked  the  little  face  to  his 
own  broad  breast.  The  rest  of  us  knew  well 
enough  what  Clancy  would  do.  "Judgment  hell!" 
Clancy  would  say,  and  go  in  and  get  lost — or 
maybe  get  away  with  it  where  a  more  careful  man 
would  be  lost — but  we  waited  to  hear  what  Johnnie 
— such  a  little  boy — would  say.  He  said  it  at  last, 
after  looking  long  into  Clancy's  face. 

"I  think  you'd  go  in,  Captain  Clancy." 

Clancy  laughed  at  that.  "Lord,  Johnnie-boy, 
no  wonder  everybody  loves  you.  No  matter  what 
a  man  does,  all  you  see  is  the  best  that's  in  him." 

It  was  time  to  clean  up  then,  and  Johnnie  of 
course  was  bound  to  help. 


34 


M 

FROM  OUT  OF  CROWDS  NEST 

"TT  THAT'LL  I  do  with  this?"  asked  Johnnie, 

W  in  the  middle  of  the  cleaning  up,  hold 
ing  up  a  pan  of  sweepings. 

4 'Oh,  that" — Clancy  naturally  took  charge — 
"heave  it  overboard.  Ebb  tide'll  carry  it  away. 
Heave  it  into  the  slip.  Wait — maybe  you'll  have 
to  hoist  the  hatches.  'Tisn't  raining  much  now, 
anyway,  and  it  will  soon  stop  altogether.  Might 
as  well  go  aloft  and  make  a  good  job  of  the 
hatches,  hadn't  he,  Peter?" 

"Wait  a  minute."  Peter  was  squinting  through 
the  porthole.  "I  shouldn't  wonder  but  this  is  one 
of  our  fellows  coming  in.  I  know  she's  a  banker. 
The  Enchantress,  I  think.  Look,  Tommie;  and 
see  what  you  make  of  her." 

Clancy  looked.  "That's  who  it  is,  Peter.  Hi, 
Johnnie,  here'll  be  a  chance  for  you  to  hoist  the 
flag.  Hurry  aloft  and  tend  to  the  hatches,  as 
Peter  says,  and  you  can  hoist  the  flag  for  the  En 
chantress  home  from  the  Banks." 

In  bad  weather,  like  it  was  that  day,  the  little 

35* 


The  Seiners 

balcony  of  Crow's  Nest  was  shut  in  by  little 
hatches,  arranged  so  that  they  could  be  run  up 
and  down,  the  same  as  hatches  are  slid  over  the 
companionway  of  a  fisherman's  cabin  or  forec's'le. 
Johnnie  was  a  pretty  active  boy,  and  he  was  up  the 
rope  ladder  and  onto  the  roof  in  a  few  seconds. 
We  could  hear  him  walking  above,  and  soon  the 
hatches  slid  away  and  we  all  could  look  freely  out 
to  sea  again. 

"All  right  below?"  called  out  Johnnie. 

"Not  yet,"  answered  Peter.  He  was  standing 
by  the  rail  of  the  balcony  and  untwisting  the  hal 
yards  that  served  to  hoist  the  signal-flags  to  the 
masthead.  Peter  seemed  slow  at  it,  and  Clancy 
called  out  again,  "Wait  a  bit,  and  we'll  overhaul 
the  halyards."  Then,  looking  up  and  noticing  that 
Johnnie  was  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  roof,  he 
added,  "And  be  careful  and  not  slip  on  those  wet 
planks." 

"Aye,  aye!"  Johnnie  was  in  higK  glee.  "And 
then  I  can  run  up  the  flag  for  the  Enchantress?" 

"Sure,  you've  been  such  a  good  boy  to-day." 

"M-m — but  that'll  be  fine.  I  can  catch  the  hal 
yards  from  here  if  you'll  swing  them  in  a  little." 

"All  right — be  careful.    Here  you  go  now." 

"Let  'em  come — I  got " 

The  first  thing  we  knew  of  what  had  happened 
was  when  we  saw  Johnnie's  body  come  pitching 

36 


From  Out  of  Crow's  Nest 

down.  He  struck  old  Peter  first,  staggering  him, 
and  from  there  he  shot  down  out  of  sight. 

Clancy  jumped  to  the  rail  in  time  to  save  Peter 
from  toppling  over  it  and  just  in  time,  as  he  said 
afterward,  to  see  the  boy  splash  in  the  slip  below. 
He  yanked  Peter  to  his  feet,  and  then,  without 
turning  around,  he  called  out,  "A  couple  of  you 
run  to  the  head  of  the  dock — there'll  be  a  dory 
there  somewhere — row  'round  to  the  slip  with  it. 
He'll  be  carried  under  the  south  side — look  for 
him  there  if  I'm  not  there  before  you.  Drive  her 
now!" 

"Here,  Joe,  wake  up!"  Clancy  had  untied  the 
ends  of  the  halyards  after  whirling  them  through 
the  block  above,  and  now  had  the  whole  line  piled 
up  on  the  balcony.  He  took  a  couple  of  turns 
around  his  waist,  took  another  turn  around  a  cleat 
under  the  balcony  rail,  passed  the  bight  of  the  line 
to  me,  and  said,  "Here,  Joe,  lower  me.  Take  hold 
you,  too,  Peter.  Pay  out  and  not  too  careful.  Oh, 
faster,  man !  If  he  ain't  dead  he'll  drown,  maybe 
— if  he  gets  sucked  in  and  caught  under  those  piles 
it's  all  off." 

He  was  sliding  over  the  rail,  the  line  tautening 
to  his  weight  in  no  time,  and  he  talking  all  the 
time.  "Lower  away — lower,  lower!  Faster — 
faster  than  that — he's  rising  again — second  time 
— and  drifting  under  the  wharf,  sure's  fate! 

37 


The  Seiners 

Faster — faster — what's  wrong  ? — what's  caught 
there? — let  her  run!" 

The  halyards  had  become  fouled,  and  Peter  was 
trying  to  clear  them,  calling  to  Clancy  to  wait. 

"Fouled?"  roared  Clancy.  "Cast  it  off  alto 
gether.  Let  go  altogether  and  let  me  drop." 

"We  can't — the  bight  of  it's  caught  around 
Peter's  legs !"  I  called  to  him. 

"Oh,  hell!  take  a  couple  of  half-hitches  around 
the  cleat  then — look  out  now !"  He  gripped  the 
halyards  high  above  his  head  with  both  hands, 
gave  a  jumping  pull,  and  let  himself  drop.  The 
line  parted  and  down  he  shot. 

He  must  have  been  shaken  by  the  shock  of  his 
fall,  but  I  guess  he  had  his  senses  with  him  when 
he  came  up  again,  for  in  no  time  he  was  striking 
toward  where  Johnnie  had  come  up  last.  Then  I 
ran  downstairs,  down  to  the  dock,  and  was  just 
in  time  to  see  Parsons  and  Moore  rowing  a  dory 
desperately  up  the  slip,  and  Clancy  with  Johnnie 
chest-up,  and  a  hand  under  his  neck,  kicking  from 
under  the  stringers,  and  calling  out,  "This  way 
with  the  dory — drive  her,  fellows,  drive  her!" 

I  did  not  wait  for  any  more — I  knew  Johnnie 
was  safe  with  Clancy — but  ran  to  the  office  of  the 
Duncans  and  told  them  that  Johnnie  had  fallen 
into  the  dock  and  got  wet,  and  that  it  might  be 
well  to  telephone  for  a  doctor.  His  grandfather 

38 


From  Out  of  Crow's  Nest 

knew  it  was  serious  without  my  saying  any  more, 
and  rang  up  at  once. 

That  had  hardly  been  done  when  Clancy  came 
in  the  door  with  Johnnie  in  his  arms.  The  boy 
was  limp  and  unconscious  and  water  was  drip 
ping  from  him.  Old  Mr.  Duncan  was  worried 
enough,  but  composed  in  his  manner  for  all  that. 
He  met  Clancy  at  the  door.  "This  way,  Captain; 
lay  him  on  this  couch.  The  doctor  will  be  here 
in  a  very  few  minutes  now.  Perhaps  we  can  do 
something  while  he  is  on  the  way.  Just  how  did 
it  happen  ?  and  we'll  know  better  what  to  do,  per- 
haps." 

Clancy  told  his  story  in  forty  words.  "He's 
probably  shook  up  and  his  lungs  must  be  full  of 
water.  But  he  may  come  out  all  right — his  eye 
lids  quivered  coming  up  the  dock.  Better  strip 
his  shirt  and  waist  off.  He's  got  a  lot  of  water  in 
him — roll  him  over  and  we'll"  get  some  of  it  out." 

He  worked  away  on  Johnnie,  and  had  the  water 
pretty  well  out  of  him  by  the  time  the  uncle  and 
the  doctor  came.  It  was  hard  work  for  a  time, 
but  it  came  at  last  to  when  the  doctor  stood  up, 
rested  his  arms  for  a  breath,  said,  uAh — he's  all 
right  now,"  and  went  on  again.  It  was  not  so 
very  long  after  that  that  Johnnie  opened  his  eyes 
— for  about  a  second.  But  pretty  soon  he  opened 
them  to  stay.  His  first  look  was  for  his  grand- 

39 


The  Seiners 

father,  but  his  first  word  was  for  Clancy.  "I 
could  see  you  when  you  jumped,  Captain  Clancy 
— it  was  great. " 

Then  they  bundled  Johnnie  into  a  carriage  and 
his  uncle  took  him  home. 

"Lord,  but  I  thought  he  was  gone,  Joe.  But 
let's  get  out  of  this,"  said  Clancy,  and  we  were 
making  for  the  door,  with  Clancy's  clothes  still 
wringing  wet,  when  we  were  stopped  by  the  elder 
Mr.  Duncan,  who  shook  hands  with  both  of  us 
and  then  went  on  to  speak  to  Clancy. 

"Captain  Clancy " 

"Captain  once,  but " 

"I  know,  I  know,  but  not  from  lack  of  ability, 
at  any  rate.  Let  me  thank  you.  His  mother  will 
thank  you  herself  later,  and  make  you  feel,  I 
know,  her  sense  of  what  she  owes  to  you.  And 
his  cousin  Alice — she  thinks  the  world  of  him. 
There,  I  know  you  don't  want  to  hear  any  more, 
but  you  shall — maybe  later — though  it  may  come 
up  in  another  way.  But  tell  me — wait,  come  in 
side  a  minute.  Come  in  you,  too,  Joe,"  he  said, 
turning  to  me,  but  I  said  I'd  rather  wait  outside. 
I  wanted  to  have  a  smoke  to  get  my  nerves  steady 
again,  I  guess. 

So  Clancy  and  Mr.  Duncan  went  inside,  and 
through  the  window,  whenever  I  looked  up,  I 
could  see  them.  As  their  talk  went  on  I  could  see 

40 


From  Out  of  Crow's  Nest 

that  they  were  getting  very  much  interested  about 
something  or  other.  Clancy  particularly  was  lay 
ing  down  the  law  with  a  clenched  fist  and  an  arm 
that  swung  through  the  air  like  a  jibing  boom. 
Somebody,  I  knew,  was  getting  it. 

When  they  came  out  Mr.  Duncan  stopped  at 
the  door,  and  said,  as  if  by  way  of  a  parting  word, 
"And  so  you  think  that's  the  cause  of  Withrow's 
picking  a  quarrel  with  Maurice?  Well,  I  never 
thought  of  that  before,  but  maybe  you're  right. 
And  now,  what  do  you  say  to  a  vessel  for  your 
self?" 

"Me  take  a  vessel?  No,  sir — not  for  me.  But 
when  you've  got  vessels  to  hand  around,  Mr.  Dun 
can,  bear  Maurice  in  mind — he's  a  fisherman." 

We  left  Mr.  Duncan  then,  he  making  ready  to 
telephone  to  learn  how  Johnnie  was  getting  along. 
Clancy  said  his  clothes  were  beginning  to  feel  so 
dry  that  he  did  not  know  as  he  would  go  to  his 
boarding-house.  "I  think  we'd  better  go  up  to 
the  Anchorage  and  have  a  little  touch.  But  I  for 
got — you  don't  drink,  Joe?  No?  So  I  thought, 
but  don't  you  care — you're  young  yet.  Come 
along,  anyway,  and  have  a  smoke." 

And  so  we  went  along  to  the  Anchorage,  and 
while  we  were  there,  I  smoking  one  of  those  bar 
room  cigars  and  Clancy  nursing  the  after-taste  of 
his  drink  and  declaring  that  a  touch  of  good  liquor 


The  Seiners 

was  equal  to  a  warm  stove  for  drying  wet  clothes, 
I  told  him  what  I  would  have  told  him  in  Crow's 
Nest  if  there  had  not  been  so  many  around — about 
Minnie  Arkell  calling  Maurice  back  into  her 
grandmother's  house,  and  then  Sam  Hollis  coming 
along  and  going  in  after  him. 

"What!"  and  stopped  dead.  Suddenly  he 
brought  his  fist  through  the  air.  "I'll" — and  as 
suddenly  stopped  it  midway.  "No,  I  won't,  either. 
But  I'll  put  Maurice  wise  to  them.  What  should 
he  know  at  his  age  and  with  his  up-bringing  of 
what's  in  the  heads  of  people  like  them.  And  if 
I  don't  have  something  further  to  say  to  old  Mr. 
Duncan!  But  now  let's  go  back  to  Arkell's — 
come  on,  Joe." 

But  I  didn't  go  back  with  him.  I  didn't  think 
that  I  could  do  Maurice  any  good  then,  and  I 
might  be  in  the  way  if  Clancy  wanted  to  speak  his 
mind  out  to  anybody.  I  went  home  instead,  where 
I  expected  to  have  troubles  of  my  own,  for  I  knew 
that  my  mother  wouldn't  like  the  idea  of  my  going 
seining. 


VI 


MAURICE  BLAKE  GETS  A  VESSEL 

THREE  days  after  Johnnie  Duncan  fell  out 
of  Crow's  Nest  the  new  Duncan  vessel  de 
signed  by  Will  Somers  was  towed  around  from 
Essex.  She  had  been  named  the  Johnnie  Duncan. 
I  spent  the  best  part  of  the  next  three  days  watch 
ing  the  sparmakers  and  riggers  at  work  on  her. 
And  when  they  had  done  with  her  and  she  fit  to 
go  to  sea,  she  did  look  handsome.  She  had  not 
quite  the  length  of  the  new  vessel  of  Sam  Hollis's, 
which  lay  at  Withrow's  dock  just  below  her,  and 
that  probably  helped  to  give  her  a  more  powerful 
look  to  people  that  compared  them.  Too  able- 
looking  altogether  to  be  real  fast,  some  thought, 
to  hold  the  Withrow  vessel  in  anything  short  of  a 
gale,  but  I  didn't  feel  so  sure  she  wouldn't  sail 
in  a  moderate  breeze,  too.  I  had  seen  her  on  the 
stocks,  and  knew  the  beautiful  lines  below  the 
water-mark.  And  she  was  going  to  carry  the  sail 
to  drive  her.  I  took  particular  pains  to  get  the 
measurements  of  her  mainmast  while  it  lay  on  the 
dock  under  the  shears.  It  was  eighty-seven  feet — 
and  she  only  a  hundred  and  ten  feet  over  all — and 

43 


The   Seiners 

it  stepped  plumb  in  the  middle  of  her,  further  for 
ward  than  a  mainmast  was  generally  put  in  a  fish 
erman.  To  that  was  shackled  a  seventy-five  foot 
boom,  and  eighty-odd  tons  of  pig-iron  were  ce 
mented  close  down  to  her  keel,  and  that  floored 
over  and  stanchioned  snug.  For  the  rest,  she  was 
very  narrow  forward,  as  I  think  I  said — every 
body  said  she'd  never  stand  the  strain  of  her  fore- 
rigging  when  they  got  to  driving  her  on  a  long 
passage.  And  she  carried  an  ungodly  bowsprit 
— thirty-seven  feet  outboard — easily  the  longest 
bowsprit  out  of  Gloucester.  Topmasts  to  match, 
gnd  there  was  some  sail  to  drive  a  vessel.  But 
she  had  the  hull  for  it,  full  and  yet  easy,  with  the 
greatest  beam  pretty  well  aft  of  the  mainmast, 
and  she  drew  fifteen  and  a  half  feet  of  water. 

I  was  still  looking  her  over,  her  third  day  in 
the  riggers'  and  sailmakers'  hands,  when  Clancy 
came  along. 

"Handsome,  ain't  she,  and  only  needing  a  skip 
per  and  crew  to  be  off  on  the  Southern  cruise,  eh, 
Joe?" 

"That's  all.  And  according  to  the  talk,  you're 
to  be  the  skipper." 

"Well,  talk  has  another  according  coming  to  it." 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  that.  But  what  happened  at 
Mrs.  Arkell's  the  other  day?" 

"What  happened?  Joe,  but  I  was  glad  you 
44 


Maurice  Blake  Gets  a  Vessel 

didn't  come  with  me.  You'd  have  felt  as  I  did  about 
it,  I  know.  There  they  were — the  two  of  them — 
Hollis  and  Withrow — yes,  Withrow  there — when 
I  broke  in  on  them,  and  Maurice  between  them — 
drunk.  Yes,  sir,  drunk  and  helpless.  They  called 
it  a  wine-party,  as  though  a  man  couldn't  get  as 
good  and  drunk  on  wine  in  a  private  residence  as 
ever  he  could  on  whiskey  or  rum  in  the  back  room 
of  a  saloon.  Well,  sir,  I  asked  a  question  or  two, 
and  they  tried  to  face  me  out,  but  out  they  went — 
first  Hollis,  and  then  Withrow,  one  after  the  other, 
and  both  good  and  lively.  And  then  Minnie 
Arkell  popped  in  from  her  own  house  by  way  of 
the  backyard.  She  didn't  expect  to  see  me — I 
know  she  didn't.  Had  gone  over  to  her  house 
when  the  men  began  to  drink,  she  said,  and  had 
just  come  over  to  see  granny. 

"Well,  I  told  her  what  I  thought.  'It  means 
nothing  to  you,'  I  said,  'to  see  a  man  make  a  fool 
of  himself — that's  been  a  good  part  of  your  busi 
ness  in  life  for  some  time  now — to  see  men  make 
fools  of  themselves  for  you.  Withrow  had  rea 
sons  for  wanting  him  disgraced — never  mind  why. 
Sam  Hollis,  maybe,  has  his  reasons  too.  And  the 
two  of  them  are  being  helped  along  by  you.  You 
could  have  stopped  this  thing  here  to-day,  but 
you  didn't.'  'No,  no,  Tommie,'  she  says.  'Yes, 
yes,'  I  went  on,  'and  don't  try  to  tell  me  different* 

45 


The  Seiners 

If  I  didn't  know  you  since  you  were  a  little  girl 
you  might  be  able  to  convince  me,  but  I  know  you. 
Maurice,  when  he  was  himself,  passed  you  by. 
You  were  bound  to  have  him.  You  know  a  real 
man,  more's  the  pity,  when  you  see  one,  and  you 
know  that  Maurice,  young  and  green  and  soft  as 
he  is,  has  more  life  and  dash  than  a  dozen  of  the 
kind  you've  been  mixing  with  lately.' 

"Oh,  but  I  laid  it  on,  Joe.  Yes.  A  shame  to 
have  to  talk  like  that  to  a  woman,  but  I  just  had 
to.  I  didn't  stop  there.  'You're  handsome,  and 
you're  rich,  Minnie  Arkell;  got  a  lot  of  life  left 
in  you  yet,  and  go  off  travelling  with  people  who 
get  their  names  regularly  in  the  Boston  papers; 
but  just  the  same,  Minnie  Arkell,  there  are  women 
in  jail  not  half  so  bad  as  you — women  doing  time 
who've  done  less  mischief  in  the  world  than  you 
have.'  " 

"Wasn't  that  pretty  rough,  Tommie?" 

"Rough?  Lord,  yes — but  true,  Joe,  true.  And 
if  you'd  only  see  poor  Maurice  lying  there! 
Cried?  I  could've  cried,  Joe — not  since  my 
mother  died  did  I  come  so  near  to  it.  But  it  was 
done. 

"Well,  I  made  Minnie  go  and  get  her 
grandmother.  And,  Joe,  if  you'd  seen  that  fine 
old  lady — oh,  but  she's  got  a  heart  in  her — stoop 
and  put  Maurice's  head  on  her  bosom  as  if  he 

46 


Maurice  Blake  Gets  a  Vessel 

was  a  little  child.  'The  poor,  poor  boy.  No  mother 
here,'  she  said,  'and  the  best  man  on  earth  might 
come  to  it.  Leave  him  to  me,  Tommie.'  Lord,  I 
could  have  knelt  down  at  her  feet — the  heart  in 
her,  Joe." 

"And  how  has  Maurice  been  since?" 

"All  right.  That  was  the  first  time  in  his  life 
that  he  was  drunk.  I  think  it  will  be  his  last. 
But  let's  go  aboard  the  Johnnie." 

After  looking  over  the  Johnnie  Duncan  and 
admiring  her  to  our  hearts'  content,  we  sat  down 
in  her  cabin  and  began  to  talk  of  the  seining  sea 
son  to  come.  Others  came  down  and  joined  in — 
George  Moore,  Eddie  Parsons  among  others — 
and  they  asked  Clancy  what  he  was  going  to  do. 
Was  he  going  to  see  about  a  chance  to  go  seining, 
or  what?  Moore  said  he's  been  waiting  to  see 
what  Maurice  Blake  was  going  to  do;  but  as  it 
was  beginning  to  look  as  though  Maurice  was 
done  for,  he  guessed  he'd  take  a  look  around.  He 
asked  Clancy  what  he  thought,  and  Clancy  said  he 
didn't  know — time  enough  yet. 

Maurice  Blake  himself  dropped  down  then.  He 
was  looking  better,  and  everybody  was  glad  to  see 
it.  He'd  quit  drinking — that  was  certain;  and 
now  he  was  a  picture  of  a  man — not  pretty,  but 
strong-looking,  with  his  eyes  glowing  and  his  skin 
flushing  with  the  good  blood  inside  him.  He  took 

47 


The  Seiners 

a  seat  on  the  lockers  and  began  to  whittle  a  block 
of  soft  pine  into  a  model  of  a  hull,  and  after  a 
while,  with  a  squint  along  the  sheer  of  his  little 
model,  he  asked  if  anybody  had  seen  Tom  O'Don- 
nell  or  Wesley  Marrs.  Several  said  yes,  they  had, 
and  he  asked  where,  and  when  they  told  him  he 
got  up  and  said  he  guessed  he'd  go  along — as  he 
couldn't  get  a  vessel  himself,  he  might  as  well  see 
about  a  chance  to  go  hand.  "And  as  we've  been 
together  so  much  in  times  gone  by,  Tommie,  and 
you,  Eddie  and  George,  what  do  you  say  if  we  go 
together  now?" 

"All  right,"  said  Clancy,  "but  wait  a  minute — 
who's  that  in  the  gangway?" 

It  turned  out  to  be  Johnnie  Duncan.  He  had 
a  fat  bundle  under  his  arm,  and  bundle  and  all 
Clancy  took  him  up,  tossed  him  into  the  air,  said 
"All  right  again,  Johnnie-boy?"  and  kissed  him 
when  he  caught  him  down. 

Johnnie  started  to  undo  his  bundle.  "I  tell  you 
it's  great  to  be  out  again — the  way  they  kept  me 
cooped  up  the  last  few  days,"  and  then,  cutting  the 
string  to  hurry  matters,  opened  the  bundle  and 
spread  a  handsome  set  of  colors  on  the  lockers. 
"The  Johnnie  Duncan's,"  said  he.  "I  picked  out 
the  kind  they  were  to  be,  but  mummer  worked 
the  monograms  herself.  See,  red  and  blue.  And 
see  that  for  an  ensign !  and  the  firm's  flag — and  the 


Maurice  Blake  Gets  a  Vessel 

highs — look! — the  J.  A.  D.  twisted  up  the  same 
as  on  the  handkerchiefs  we  strained  the  coffee 
through  last  week.  And  the  burgee — the  letters  on 
the  burgee — my  cousin  Alice  worked  them.  And 
these  stars — see,  on  the  ensign — mummer  and  my 
cousin  both  worked  them.  Gran'pa  said  the  ves 
sel  ought  to  be  sure  a  lucky  one,  and  all  she  needs 
is  an  able  master,  he  says,  and  if  Captain  Blake 
will  take  her  he'll  be  proud  to  have  him  sail  the 
Johnnie  Duncan " 

Maurice  Blake  stood  up.    "Me?" 

"Yes,"  said  Johnnie.  "Gran'pa  says  that  you 
can  have  her  just  as  soon  as  you  go  to  the  Custom 
House  and  get  your  papers.  There,  I  think  I  re 
membered  it  all,  except  of  course  that  the  colors 
are  from  me  and  mummer  and  my  cousin  Alice, 
and  will  you  fly  them  for  us?" 

Maurice  laid  down  his  model  and  picked  up  the 
colors.  Then  he  looked  at  Johnnie  and  said, 
"Thank  you,  Johnnie;  and  tell  your  mother,  John 
nie,  and  your  cousin,  that  I'll  fly  the  Johnnie  Dun 
can's  colors — and  stand  by  them — if  ever  it  comes 
to  standing  by — till  she  goes  under.  Tell  your 
grandfather  that  I'll  be  proud  to  be  master  of  his 
vessel  and  I'll  sail  her  the  best  I  know  how." 

"That's  you,  Maurice,"  said  Clancy. 

Maurice  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes  and  sat 
down  again.  And  as  soon  as  they  decently  could, 

49 


The  Seiners 

Clancy,  George  Moore,  and  Eddie  Parsons  asked 
him  if  they  might  ship  with  him  for  the  Southern 
cruise.  Maurice  said  they  very  well  knew  that 
he'd  be  glad  to  have  them.  He  asked  me,  too,  he 
felt  so  good,  and  of  course  I  jumped  at  the  chance. 


VII 


CLANCY  CROSSES  MINNIE  ARKELL 

THE  Johnnie  Duncan  only  needed  to  have  her 
stores  taken  aboard  to  go  to  sea.  And  that 
was  attended  to  next  morning,  and  she  was  out  for 
her  trial  trip  the  same  afternoon.  Everybody 
said  she  looked  as  handsome  as  a  photograph  going 
out,  though  all  the  old  sharks,  when  they  saw  her 
mainsail  hoisted  for  the  first  time,  said  she'd  cer 
tainly  have  need  of  her  quarter  and  draught  to 
stand  up  under  it. 

It  was  a  great  day  for  sailing,  though — the  finest 
kind  of  a  breeze,  and  smooth  water.  We  early 
carried  away  our  foretopmast,  which  had  a  flaw  in 
it.  It  was  just  as  well  to  discover  it  then.  Without 
topsail  and  balloon  we  had  it  out  with  the  Eastern 
Point  on  her  way  back  from  Boston.  She  was  not 
much  of  a  steamer  for  speed,  but  her  schedule 
called  for  twelve  knots  and  she  generally  made 
pretty  near  it — eleven  or  eleven  and  a  half,  accord 
ing  to  how  her  stokers  felt,  I  guess.  We  headed 
her  off  after  a  while,  and  that  was  doing  pretty  well 
for  that  breeze,  with  a  new  vessel  not  yet  loosened 
up. 

51 


The  Seiners 

"But  the  balloon  was  too  much  for  her,"  said 
Mr.  Duncan,  as  we  shot  into  the  dock  after  beating 
the  Eastern  Point. 

"No,  the  balloon  was  all  right — 'twas  the 
topm'st  was  a  bit  light,"  answered  Maurice. 

Old  Mr.  Duncan  smiled  at  that.  "But  what  do 
you  think  of  her,  Captain  Blake?" 

"Oh,  she's  like  all  the  rest  of  them  when  she's 
alone — sails  like  the  devil,"  the  skipper  answered 
to  that,  but  he  smiled  with  it  and  we  all  knew  he 
was  satisfied  with  her. 

That  night  was  the  Master  Mariners'  Ball,  and 
I  waited  up  till  late  to  talk  with  my  cousin  Nell, 
who  had  gone  there  with  Will  Somers.  Finally 
they  came  along  past  my  house  and  I  hailed  them. 

Nell  broke  right  in  as  usual  with  what  was  upper 
most  in  her  mind.  "I  don't  suppose  you  saw  me 
and  Alice,  but  we  were  in  Mr.  Duncan's  office  when 
you  and  Mr.  Clancy  and  Captain  Blake  were  com 
ing  up  the  dock  to-day  after  the  trial  trip.  Mr. 
Duncan  told  us  what  Captain  Blake  said  of  the 
Johnnie  Duncan,  but  now  tell  me,  what  did  the 
rest  of  you  think  of  her?  What  does  your  friend 
Clancy  say?  He  knows  a  vessel." 

"Clancy,"  I  answered,  "thought  what  we  all 
thought,  I  guess — that  she's  a  fast  vessel  any  way 
you  take  her,  but  he  won't  say  she's  the  fastest 
vessel  out  of  Gloucester,  even  after  she's  put  in  trim 

52 


Clancy  Crosses  Minnie  Arkell 

and  loosened  up.  But  in  a  sea-going  way  and  with 
wind  enough — with  wind  enough,  mind — he  thinks 
she'll  do  pretty  well.5* 

"With  wind  enough  and  in  a  sea-way  ?"  re 
peated  Nell.  "Then  I  hope  that  when  the  fisher 
men's  race  is  sailed  next  fall  it's  a  howling  gale 
and  seas  clear  to  your  mast-head.  Yes,  and  you 
needn't  laugh — don't  you  know  what  it  means  to 
Will?" 

And  I  did  realize.  Somers,  a  fine  fellow,  was 
just  then  beginning  to  get  a  chance  at  designing 
fishermen.  So  far  he  had  done  pretty  well,  but 
it  was  on  the  Johnnie  Duncan,  I  knew,  he  had 
pinned  his  faith.  For  his  own  sake,  I  hoped 
that  the  Johnnie  would  do  great  things,  but  for 
Nell's  sake  I  prayed  she  would.  Nell  thought  a 
lot  of  Will  and  wasn't  ashamed  to  show  her  liking, 
and  thinking  of  that  set  me  to  thinking  of  other 
things. 

"Was  Miss  Foster  to  the  ball?"  I  asked  her. 

"She  was,"  said  Nell. 

"And  with  whom?" 

"Mr.  Withrow." 

"Oh-h,  Lord!" 

"Oh-h!— and  why  Oh-h-h?" 

"I  wish  she'd  gone  with  Maurice." 

"H-m — that  was  drunk  the  other  day?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  that  queers  him  forever.    And 

53 


The  Seiners 

the  other  fellow  does  ten  times  as  bad,  only  under 
cover.  Who  told  you?" 

"Nevermind.     Wasn't  he  ?" 

"Was  Maurice  to  the  ball?" 

"He  was." 

"And  who  with?" 

"With  nobody." 

"Good.    Was  Mrs.  Miner  there?" 

"Mrs.  Miner?"— and  such  a  sniff!— "yes,  she 
was  there." 

"With  Sam  Hollis?" 

"Yes,  and  flirted  with  half  the  men  in  the  hall 
and  with  your  Maurice  Blake  outrageously." 

"That  so?  Could  Maurice  help  that  much? 
But  I  wish,  just  the  same,  that  Miss  Foster  had 
gone  with  Maurice." 

"Well,  there  was  one  very  good  reason." 

"What?" 

"He  didn't  ask  her.  And  Mr.  Withrow  made  a 
handsome  cavalier  anyway." 

"A  handsome" — I  was  going  to  say  lobster, 
but  I  didn't.  Instead  I  told  her  why  Maurice 
didn't  ask  Miss  Foster — that  he  didn't  think 
enough  of  himself,  probably.  And  that  led  up  to  a 
talk  about  Maurice  Blake  and  Clancy.  Before  I 
got  through  I  had  Nell  won  over.  Indeed.  I  think 
she  was  won  over  before  I  began  at  all. 

"There's  a  whole  lot  you  don't  know  yet,"  she 
54 


Clancy  Crosses  Minnie  Arkell 

said  at  last.  "Get  Captain  Blake  to  make  a  name 
for  himself  seining,  and  for  sailing  his  vessel  as 
she  ought  to  be  sailed,  and  I'll  get  down  on  my 
knees  to  Alice  for  him — sail  her  as  she  ought  to  be 
sailed,  remember.  And  make  a  good  stock  with 
her,  and  you'll  see." 

So,  as  I  walked  down  the  street  with  Nell  and 
Will  Somers  a  part  of  the  way,  the  talk  was  in 
that  strain,  and  when  I  left  them,  after  passing 
Sam  Hollis  bound  home,  it  was  with  the  hope  of 
things  coming  out  all  right.  I  was  feeling  happy 
until  I  got  near  Minnie  Arkell's  door,  where  my 
worrying  began  again,  for  there  on  the  steps  and 
in  the  glare  of  the  electric  light  was  Minnie  Arkell 
herself,  as  though  she  were  waiting  for  some 
body.  And  not  wanting  to  have  her  know  that  I 
saw  her  waiting  at  her  door  steps  at  that  time  of 
night,  I  stepped  in  the  shadows  until  she  should 
go  in.  It  was  then  that  Maurice  came  along,  and 
she  called  him  up.  And  he  went  up  and  stood  on 
the  step  below  her  and  she  bent  over  him  as  if  she 
wanted  to  lift  him  up.  And  it  was  less  than  five 
minutes  since  Sam  Hollis  left  her. 

"Come  around  by  way  of  the  side  door  of 
grandma's  house,  Maurice,  and  through  her  yard 
and  into  my  house,  and  nobody  will  see  you.  And 
then  no  old  grannies  will  talk  and  we'll  have  a  little 
supper  all  to  ourselves.  Hurry  now."  She  was 

55 


The  Seiners 

talking  as  if  she  owned  him.  I  did  not  hear 
what  Maurice  said,  nor  I  did  not  want  to  hear; 
but  making  for  the  corner,  he  went  by  me  like  a 
shot,  and  "O  Lord!"  I  heard  him  groan  as  he 
passed  me,  not  recognizing  me — not  even  seeing 
me,  I  believe. 

I  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it  and  let  him 
go  by.  But  after  he  had  turned  the  corner  and 
Minnie  Arkell  had  shut  her  door — and  she  watched 
him  till  he  disappeared  around  the  corner — I  ran 
after  him.  In  my  hurrying  after  him  I  heard  the 
voice  of  Clancy  coming  down  the  street.  He  was 
singing.  I  had  heard  from  Nell  of  Clancy  being 
at  the  ball,  where  he  was  as  usual  in  charge  of  the 
commissary.  I  could  imagine  how  they  must  have 
drove  things  around  the  punch-bowl  with  Clancy 
to  the  wheel.  He  was  coming  along  now  and  for 
blocks  anybody  that  was  not  dead  could  hear  him. 
And  getting  nearer  I  had  to  admire  him.  He  was 
magnificent,  even  with  a  list  to  port.  Not  often,  I 
imagined,  did  men  of  Clancy's  lace  and  figure  get 
into  evening  dress.  The  height  and  breadth  of 
him! — and  spreading  enough  linen  on  his  shirt 
front  to  make  a  sail  for  quite  a  little  vessel.  He 
was  almost  on  top  of  me,  with 

"  Oh,  hove  flat  down  on  th*  Western  Banks 
Was  the  Bounding  Billow,  Captain  Hanks — 
And " 

when  I  hailed  him. 


Clancy  Crosses  Minnie  Arkell 

"Hulloh,  if  it  ain't  Joe  Buckley.  Why,  Joey, 
but  aren't  you  out  pretty  late  to-night?  But  maybe 
you're  only  standing  watch  for  somebody?  Three 
o'clock,  Joey,  and  no  excuse  for  you,  for  you  didn't 
have  to  stand  by  the  supplies — "  But  then  I 
rushed  him  around  the  corner,  and  down  the  street 
to  the  side  door  of  Mrs.  Arkell's  and  just  in  time 
to  head  off  Maurice,  bound  as  I  knew  for  Min 
nie  Arkell's  house  across  the  yard.  I  didn't  have 
a  chance  to  say  a  word  to  Tommie,  but  he  didn't 
have  to  be  told.  If  I'd  been  explaining  for  a 
week  he  couldn't  have  picked  things  up  any  better 
than  he  did. 

"Maurice — hi,  Maurice !  Oh,  'tis  you,  isn't  it. 
Well,  Maurice-boy,  all  the  night  I  waited  for  a 
phance  to  have  a  word  with  you,  but  ne'er  a  chance 
could  I  get.  Early  in  the  evening — when  I  was 
fit  for  ladies'  company — Miss  Foster  said  how 
proud  she  was  to  know  me — me,  who  had  saved 
her  cousin  Johnnie's  life.  And  then  she  asked  me 
about  the  vessel,  and  I  told  her,  Maurice,  that 
nothing  like  the  Duncan  ever  pushed  salt  water 
from  out  of  her  way  before.  'Nothing  with  two 
sticks  in  her,'  says  I,  and  I  laid  it  on  thick;  'and 
Maurice  Blake,'  says  I — and  there,  Maurice,  I 
only  spoke  true  catechism.  'Maurice  Blake,'  says 
I,  'is  the  man  to  sail  her.'  She  was  glad,  she 
said,  to  know  that,  because  her  chum,  Miss  Buck- 

57 


The  Seiners 

ley — Joe's  cousin  there — wanted  that  particular 
vessel  to  be  a  success.  And  she  herself  was  in 
terested  in  it.  Never  mind  the  reasons,  she  said. 
And  she  always  did  believe — and,  Maurice,  listen 
now — she  knew  that  Captain  Blake  would  do  the 
Johnnie  Duncan  justice.  And  I  said  to  her — • 
well,  Maurice,  what  I  said  you  can  guess  well 
enough.  No,  come  to  think,  you  can't  guess,  but  I 
won't  tell  you  to  your  face.  But  thinking  of  it  now, 
I  mind,  Maurice,  the  time  when  we  were  dory- 
mates — you  and  me,  Maurice — and  the  cold  win 
ter's  day  our  dory  was  capsized.  And  dark  com 
ing  on  and  nothing  in  sight,  and  I  could  see  you 
beginning  to  get  tired.  But  tired  as  you  were, 
Maurice,  tired  as  you  were  and  the  gray  look 
beginning  to  creep  over  you,  you  says,  'Tommie, 
take  the  plug  strap  for  a  while,  you.'  ' 
"But  you  didn't  take  it,  Tommie." 
"No,  I  didn't  take  it — and  why?  I  didn't  take 
it — and  why?  Because,  though  the  mothers  that 
bore  us  both  were  great  women — all  fire  and  iron 
— 'twas  in  me  to  last  longer — you  a  boy  and  your 
first  winter  fishing,  and  me  a  tough,  hard  old  traw 
ler.  And  you  had  all  of  life  before  you,  and  I'd  run 
through  some  hard  years  of  mine.  If  I'd  gone 
'twould  have  been  no  great  loss,  but  you,  Maurice, 
innocent  as  a  child — how  could  I?  I'd  known  men 
and  women,  good  and  bad — I'd  lived  life  and  I'd 

58 


Clancy  Crosses  Minnie  Arkell 

had  my  chance  and  thrown  it  away — but  at  your 
age  the  things  you  had  to  learn !  Maybe  I  didn't 
think  it  all  out  like  that,  but  that  was  why  I  didn't 
take  the  plug  strap.  But,  Maurice-boy,  I  never 
forgot  it.  'Take  the  plug  strap,  you,  Tommie,' 
you  says.  We  were  dory-mates,  of  course,  but, 
Maurice-boy,  I'll  never  forget  it." 

Clancy  took  off  his  hat  and  drew  his  hand  across 
his  forehead.  "And  where  were  you  bound  when 
we  stopped  you,  Maurice?' 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.    To  take  a  walk  maybe." 

"Sure,  and  why  not?  Let's  all  take  a  walk. 
Let's  take  a  walk  down  to  the  dock  and  have  a 
look  at  the  vessel.  Too  dark?  So  it  is,  but  we 
can  see  the  shadow  of  her  masts  rising  up  to  the 
clouds  and  we  can  open  up  the  cabin  and  go  below 
and  have  a  smoke.  Come,  Maurice.  Come 
on,  Joe." 

And  down  to  the  cabin  of  the  Johnnie  Duncan 
we  went,  and  Clancy  never  in  such  humor.  For 
three  hours — from  a  little  after  three  o'clock  until 
after  six — we  sat  on  the  lockers,  Clancy  talking 
and  we  smoking  and  roaring  at  him.  Only  the 
sun  coming  up  over  Eastern  Point,  lighting  up  the 
harbor  and  striking  into  the  cabin  of  the  Johnnie 
Duncan,  brought  Clancy  to  a  halt. 

He  moved  then  and  we  with  him.  We  left 
Maurice  at  the  door  of  old  Mrs.  Arkell's,  the  old 

59 


The  Seiners 

lady  herself  in  the  doorway  and  asking  us  if  we 
had  a  good  time  at  the  ball.  Standing  on  the 
steps,  before  he  went  in,  Maurice  said  to  me: 
"Tell  your  cousin,  Joe,  that  when  I  do  race  the 
Johnnie,  I'll  take  the  spars  out  of  her  before  any 
thing  gets  by — take  the  spars  out  or  send  her 
under.  I  can't  do  any  more  than  that." 

The  Johnnie  Duncan  was  to  leave  at  ten  o'clock 
and  so  I  left  Clancy  at  his  boarding-house.  He 
looked  tired  when  I  left  him.  But  he  was  chuck 
ling,  too.  I  asked  him  what  it  was  that  made  him 
smile  so. 

"I'll  give  you  three  guesses,"  he  said,  but  I 
didn't  guess. 


60 


VIII 

THE   SEINING   FLEET   PUTS   OUT   TO   SEA 

THE  rest  of  that  morning,  between  leaving 
Clancy  and  getting  back  to  the  dock  again, 
I  spent  in  cleaning  up  and  overhauling  my  home 
outfit.  My  mother  couldn't  be  made  to  believe 
that  store  bedding  was  of  much  use — and  she  was 
right,  I  guess — and  so  a  warranted  mattress  and 
blankets  and  comforters  and  a  pillow  were  made 
into  a  bundle  and  thrown  onto  a  waiting  wagon. 
Then  it  was  good-by  to  all — good-by  to  my  cousin 
Nell,  who  had  come  over  from  her  house,  good- 
by  and  a  kiss  for  her  little  sister — late  for  school 
she  was,  but  didn't  care  she  said — and  then  good- 
by  to  my  mother.  That  took  longer.  Then  it  was 
into  the  wagon  with  my  bedding  and  off  to  the 
dock. 

At  Duncan's  store  I  had  charged  up  to  me  such 
other  stuff  as  I  needed:  Two  suits  of  oilskins, 
yellow  and  black,  two  sou'westers,  heavy  and  light, 
two  blue-gray  flannel  shirts,  a  black  sweater,  a  pair 
of  rubber  boots,  two  pairs  of  woollen  mitts  and 

61 


The  Seiners 

four  pairs  of  cotton  mitts,  five  pounds  of  smoking 
tobacco,  a  new  pipe,  and  so  on.  When  I  had  all 
my  stuff  tied  up,  I  swung  up  abreast  of  Clancy 
and  together  we  headed  for  the  end  of  Duncan's 
dock,  where  the  Johnnie  Duncan  lay. 

Quite  a  fleet  went  out  ahead  of  us  that  morning. 
Being  a  new  vessel,  there  was  a  lot  of  things  that 
were  not  ready  until  the  last  minute.  And  then 
there  was  the  new  foretopmast — promised  at  nine 
o'clock  it  was — not  slung  and  stayed  up  until  after 
ten.  And  then  our  second  seine,  which  finally  we 
had  to  leave  for  Wesley  Marrs  to  take  next  morn 
ing.  And  there  were  the  usual  two  or  three  men 
late.  Clancy  and  Andie  Howe  went  up  to  have  a 
farewell  drink  and  were  gone  so  long  that  the 
skipper  sent  me  after  them.  I  found  them  both  in 
the  Anchorage,  where  Clancy  had  met  a  man  he 
hadn't  seen  for  ten  years — an  old  dory-mate — 
thought  he  was  lost  five  years  before  in  the  West 
Indies.  "But  here  he  is,  fine  and  handsome.  An 
other  little  touch  all  around  and  a  cigar  for  Joe, 
and  we're  off  for  the  Southern  cruise." 

We  left  then  and  started  for  the  dock,  with 
Clancy  full  of  poetry.  There  happened  to  be  a 
young  woman  looking  out  of  a  window  on  the 
way  down.  Clancy  did  not  know  her,  nor  she  him, 
so  far  as  I  knew,  but  something  about  him  seemed 
to  take  her  eye.  She  leaned  far  out  and  waved 

62 


The  Seining  Fleet  Puts  Out  to  Sea 

her    handkerchief    at    him.     That    was    enough. 
Clancy  broke  out — 

"  The  wind  blows  warm  and  the  wind  blows  fair, 

Oh,  the  wind  blows  westerly — 
Our  jibs  are  up  and  our  anchor's  in, 

For  the  Duncan's  going  to  sea. 
And  will  you  wait  for  me,  sweetheart  ? 

Oh,  will  you  wait  for  me  ? 
And  will  you  be  my  love  again 

When  I  come  back  from  sea  ? 

"  Oh,  sway  away  and  start  her  sheets 

And  point  her  easterly — 
It's  tackle-pennant,  boom  her  out 

And  turn  the  Duncan  free. 
You'll  see  some  sailing  now,  my  boys, 

We're  off  for  the  Southern  cruise — 
They'll  try  to  hold  the  Johnnie  D, 

But  they'll  find  it  of  no  use." 

I  didn't  wait  any  longer  than  that  for  Clancy, 
but  ran  ahead  to  the  Duncan.  I  found  her  with 
jibs  up  and  paying  off.  I  was  in  time  to  get 
aboard  without  trouble,  but  Clancy  and  Howe 
coming  later  had  to  make  a  pier-head  jump  of  it. 
Clancy,  who  could  leap  like  a  hound — drunk  or 
sober — made  it  all  right  with  his  feet  on  the 
end  of  the  bowsprit  and  his  fingers  on  the 
balloon  stay  when  he  landed,  but  Howe  fell 
short,  and  we  had  the  liveliest  kind  of  a  time 
gaffing  him  in  over  the  bow,  he  not  being  able 

63 


The  Seiners 

to  swim.  They  must  have  heard  us  yelling  clear 
to  Eastern  Point,  I  guess.  Andie  didn't  mind. 
"I  must  be  with  a  lot  of  dogs — have  to  jump 
overboard  to  get  aboard."  He  spat  out  what 
water  he  had  to,  and  started  right  in  to  winch 
up  the  mainsail  with  the  gang.  He  had  on  a 
brand-new  suit,  good  cloth  and  a  fine  fit. 

"You'll  soon  dry  out  in  the  sun,  Andie-boy," 
they  all  said  to  him. 

"I  s'pose  so.  But  will  my  clothes  ever  fit  me 
again  like  they  did? — and  my  fine  new  patent- 
leather  shoes  I" 

Drifting  down  by  the  dock  next  to  Duncan's 
our  long  bowsprit  almost  swept  off  a  row  of  old 
fellows  from  the  cap-log.  They  had  to  scramble, 
but  didn't  mind.  "Good  luck,  and  I  hope  you  fill 
her  up,"  they  called  out. 

"Oh,  we'll  try  and  get  our  share  of  *em,"  our 
fellows  called  back. 

There  was  a  young  woman  on  the  next  dock — 
one  of  the  kind  that  quite  often  come  down  to  take 
snap-shots.  A  stranger  to  Gloucester  she  must 
have  been,  for  not  only  that  Gloucester  girls  don't 
generally  come  down  to  the  docks  to  see  the  fisher 
men  off,  but  she  said  good-by  to  us.  She  meant 
all  right,  but  she  should  never  have  said  good-by 
to  a  fisherman.  It's  unlucky.  Too  many  of  them 
don't  come  back,  and  then  the  good-by  comes  true. 


The  Seining  Fleet  Puts  Out  to  Sea 

Andie  Howe  looked  a  funny  sight  when  we 
were  making  sail.  Clancy,  who,  once  he  got 
started,  took  a  lot  of  stopping,  was  still  going: 

"Oh,  the  Johnnie  Duncan,  fast  and  able — 
Good-by,  dear,  good-by,  my  Mabel — 
And  will  you  save  a  kiss  for  me 
When  I  come  back  from  sea  ?  ' ' 

"Yes,"  roared  Andie, 

"  And  don't  forget  I  love  you,  dear, 
And  save  a  kiss  for  me," 

with  the  salt  water  dripping  from  his  fine  new  suit 
of  clothes  and  the  patent-leather  shoes  he  was  so 
fond  of. 

And  Clancy  again : 

"  Oh,  a  deep  blue  sky  and  a  deep  blue  sea 
And  a  blue-eyed  girl  awaiting  me," 

and  Howe, 

"  Oh,  too-roo-roo  and  a  too-roo-ree 

And  a  hi-did-dy  ho-did-dy  ho-dee-dee," 

and  Clancy, 

"  Too-roo-roo  and  a  too-roo-ree, 

The  Johnnie  Duncan's  going  to  sea," 

and  Howe — a  little  shy  on  the  words — 

'«  Tum-did-dy  dum-did-dy.dum-did-dy-dum, 
Hoo-roo-roo  and  a  dum  by  gum." 

65 


The  Seiners 

And  by  that  time  the  gang  were  joining  in  and 
sheeting  flat  the  topsails  with  a  great  swing. 

I  don't  suppose  that  Gloucester  Harbor  will 
ever  again  look  as  beautiful  to  me  as  it  did  that 
morning  when  we  sailed  out.  Forty  sail  of  seiners 
leaving  within  two  hours,  and  to  see  them  going 
— to  see  them  one  after  another  loose  sails  and  up 
with  them,  break  out  anchors,  pay  off,  and  away! 
It  was  the  first  day  of  April  and  the  first  fine  day 
in  a  week,  and  those  handsome  vessels  going  out 
one  after  the  other  in  their  fresh  paint  and  new 
sails — it  was  a  sight  to  make  a  man's  heart  thump. 

"The  Johnnie  Duncan,  seiner  of  Gloucester — • 
watch  her  walk  across  the  Bay  to-day,"  was 
George  Moore's  little  speech  when  he  came  on 
deck  to  heave  his  first  bucket  of  scraps  over  the 
rail.  George  was  cook. 

And  she  did  walk.  We  squared  away  with  half 
a  dozen  others  abreast  of  us  and  Eastern  Point 
astern  of  us  all.  Among  the  forty  sail  of  fisher 
men  that  were  standing  across  the  Bay  that  morn 
ing  we  knew  we'd  find  some  that  could  sail.  There 
was  the  Ruth  Ripley,  Pitt  Ripley's  vessel.  He 
worked  her  clear  of  the  bunch  that  came  out  of 
the  harbor  and  came  after  us,  and  we  had  it  with 
him  across  to  Cape  Cod.  Forty  miles  before  we 
beat  him ;  but  Pitt  Ripley  had  a  great  sailer  in  the 
Ruth,  and  we  would  have  been  satisfied  to  hold 

66 


The  Seining  Fleet  Puts  Out  to  Sea 

her  even.  "Only  wait  till  by  and  by,  when  we 
get  her  in  trim,"  we  kept  saying. 

'This  one'll  smother  some  of  them  yet,"  said 
Eddie  Parsons,  looking  back  at  the  Ruth.  He 
felt  pretty  good,  because  he  had  the  wheel  when 
we  finally  crossed  the  Ruth's  bow. 

"With  good  steering — yes,"  said  Clancy. 

"Of  course,"  exclaimed  Eddie  to  that,  and  filled 
his  chest  full,  and  then,  looking  around  and  catch 
ing  everybody  laughing,  let  his  chest  flatten  again. 

The  skipper  didn't  have  much  to  say  right  away 
about  her  sailing.  He  was  watching  her,  though. 
He'd  look  at  her  sails,  have  an  eye  on  how  they 
set  and  drew,  take  a  look  over  her  quarter,  an 
other  look  aloft,  and  then  back  at  the  Ruth,  then 
a  look  for  the  vessels  still  ahead.  "We'll  know 
more  about  it  after  we've  tried  her  out  with  the 
Lucy  Foster  or  the  Colleen  Bawn  or  Hollis's  new 
vessel,"  he  said,  after  a  while. 

One  thing  we  soon  found  out,  and  that  was  that 
she  was  a  stiff  vessel.  That  was  after  a  squall  hit 
us  off  Cape  Cod.  We  watched  the  rest  of  them 
then.  Some  luffed  and  others  took  in  sail,  and 
about  them  we  could  not  tell.  But  those  that  took 
it  full  gave  us  an  idea  of  how  we  were  behaving. 
"Let  her  have  it  and  see  how  she'll  do,"  said  the 
skipper,  and  Howe,  who  was  at  the  wheel — with 
his  clothes  good  and  dry  again — let  her  have  it 

6? 


The  Seiners 

full.  With  everything  on  and  tearing  through 
the  water  like  a  torpedo-boat,  one  puff  rolled  her 
down  till  she  filled  herself  chock  up  between  the 
house  and  rail,  but  she  kept  right  on  going.  Some 
vessels  can't  sail  at  all  with  decks  under,  but  the 
Johnnie  never  stopped.  "She's  all  right,  this  one," 
said  everybody  then.  A  second  later  she  took  a 
slap  of  it  over  her  bow,  nearly  smothering  the 
cook,  who  had  just  come  up  to  dump  some  potato 
parings  over  the  rail.  The  way  he  came  up  cough 
ing  and  spitting  and  then  his  dive  for  the  com- 
panionway — everybody  had  to  roar. 

"Did  y'see  the  cook  hop? — did  y'see  him  hop?" 
called  Andie,  who  was  afraid  somebody  had 
missed  it. 

We  passed  the  Marauder,  Soudan  McLeody 
soon  after.  His  mainmast  had  broken  off  eight 
or  ten  feet  below  the  head.  They  were  clearing 
away  the  wreckage.  "I  s'pose  I  oughter  had  more 
sense,"  he  called  out  as  we  went  by. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know — maybe  the  spar  was  rot 
ten,"  said  Maurice,  and  that  was  a  nice  way  to 
put  it,  too. 

That  night  it  came  a  flat  calm,  and  with  barely 
steerage  way  for  us.  There  was  a  big  four-masted 
coaster  bound  south,  too,  and  light,  and  for  the 
best  part  of  the  night  we  had  a  drifting  match 
with  her.  Coasters  as  a  rule  are  not  great  all- 

68 


The  Seining  Fleet  Puts  Out  to  Sea 

round  sailers,  but  some  of  them,  with  their  flat 
bottoms  and  shoal  draft,  in  a  fair  wind  and  go 
ing  light,  can  run  like  ghosts,  and  this  was  one  of 
that  kind.  We  had  our  work  cut  out  to  hold  this 
one  while  the  wind  was  light  and  astern,  but  in 
the  morning,  when  it  hauled  and  came  fresher,  we 
went  flying  over  the  shoals.  So  far  as  the  looks 
of  it  went  the  big  coaster  might  as  well  have  been 
anchored  then. 

All  that  day  we  held  on.  And  it  was  a  lesson 
in  sailing  to  see  the  way  some  of  those  seiners 
were  handled.  Our  skipper  spent  most  of  that 
day  finding  out  how  she  sailed  best  and  putting 
marks  on  her  sheets  for  quick  trimming  by  and  by. 

Trying  each  other  out,  measuring  one  vessel 
against  another,  the  fleet  went  down  the  coast. 
We  passed  a  few  and  were  passed  by  none,  and 
that  was  something.  Ahead  of  us  somewhere 
were  a  half-dozen  flyers.  If  we  could  have  beaten 
some  of  them  we  should  have  had  something  to 
brag  about;  but  no  telling,  we  might  get  our 
chance  yet. 


IX 

MACKEREL 

THROUGHOUT  all  that  night  the  lights  of 
the  fleet  were  all  about  us,  ahead  and  be 
hind.  At  breakfast  next  morning — four  o'clock 
— we  were  off  Delaware  Breakwater,  and  that 
afternoon  at  two  we  began  the  mast-head  watch 
for  fish.  And  on  that  fine  April  day  it  was  a 
handsome  sight — forty  sail  of  seiners  in  sight, 
spread  out  and  cruising  lazily. 

The  skipper  was  the  first  to  get  into  his  oilskins 
and  heavy  sweater,  for  with  a  vessel  hopping  along 
at  even  no  more  than  six  or  seven  knots  by  the 
wind  it  is  pretty  chilly  aloft,  nice  and  comfortable 
though  it  may  be  on  deck  in  the  sun. 

There  was  a  game  of  seven-up  going  on  in  the 
cabin,  and  the  sun  striking  down  the  companion- 
way  was  bothering  Andie  Howe.  He  began  to 
complain.  "Hi,  up  there  to  the  wheel!  Hi, 
Eddie — can't  you  put  her  on  the  other  tack? — 
the  sun's  in  my  eyes.  How  can  a  man  see  the 
cards  with  the  sun  in  his  eyes?" 

Parsons  didn't  have  the  chance  to  talk  back 
when  the  word  came  from  aloft  to  put  the  seine- 

70 


Mackerel 

boat  over  the  side,  and  after  that  to  overhaul  the 
seine  and  pile  it  in  the  boat.  Vessels  ahead  had 
seen  mackerel,  the  skipper  called  out.  We  got 
into  oilskins  and  boots  and  made  ready.  Those 
who  were  going  into  the  seine-boat  had  already 
picked  out  in  what  positions  they  were  going  to 
row,  and  now  there  was  an  overhauling  of  oars 
and  putting  marks  on  them  so  that  they  could  be 
picked  out  in  a  hurry.  Clancy  and  I  were  to  be 
dorymen.  We  made  ready  the  dory,  and  then 
Clancy  went  to  the  mast-head  with  the  skipper  and 
Long  Steve,  whose  watch  it  was  aloft. 

Things  began  to  look  like  business  soon.  Even 
from  the  deck  we  could  see  that  one  or  two  ves 
sels  ahead  had  boats  out.  We  began  to  picture 
ourselves  setting  around  a  big  school  and  landing 
the  first  mackerel  of  the  year  into  New  York.  I 
think  everybody  aboard  was  having  that  dream, 
though  everybody  pretended  not  to  be  in  earnest. 
You  could  hear  them :  UA  nice  school  now — three 
hundred  barrels."  "Or  two  hundred  would  be 
doing  pretty  well."  "Or  even  a  hundred  barrels 
wouldn't  be  bad."  There  were  two  or  three  young 
fellows  among  the  crew,  fellows  like  myself,  who 
had  never  seen  much  seining,  and  they  couldn't 
keep  still  for  excitement  when  from  the  mast 
head  came  the  word  that  a  boat  ahead  was  out  and 
making  a  set. 


The  Seiners 

We  were  going  along  all  the  time  and  when 
we  could  see  from  the  deck  for  ourselves  the  boats 
that  were  setting,  Billie  Hurd  couldn't  stand  it 
any  longer,  but  had  to  go  aloft,  too.  The  four 
of  them  made  a  fine  picture — the  skipper  and  Steve 
standing  easily  on  the  spreaders,  one  leaning 
against  the  mast  and  the  other  against  the  back 
stay,  with  Hurd  perched  on  the  jib  halyards  block 
and  Clancy  on  the  spring-stay,  and  all  looking  as 
comfortable  as  if  they  were  in  rockers  at  home. 
I'd  have  given  a  hundred  dollars  then  to  be  able 
to  stand  up  there  on  one  foot  and  lean  as  easily  as 
the  skipper  against  the  stay  with  the  vessel  going 
along  as  she  was.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  practise 
it  when  next  I  went  aloft. 

I  went  to  the  mast-head  myself  by  and  by,  and, 
seeing  half  a  dozen  schools  almost  at  once,  I  be 
came  so  excited  that  I  could  hardly  speak.  The 
skipper  was  excited,  too,  but  he  didn't  show  it, 
only  by  his  eyes  and  talking  more  jerkily  than 
usual.  He  paid  no  attention  to  two  or  three 
schools  that  made  me  just  crazy  just  to  look  at, 
but  at  last,  when  he  thought  it  was  time,  he  be 
gan  to  move.  Ten  or  a  dozen  Gloucester  ves 
sels  were  bunched  together,  and  one  porgy  steamer 
— that  is,  built  for  porgy  or  menhaden  fishing, 
but  just  now  trying  for  mackerel  like  the  rest  of 
us. 

7.2 


Mackerel 

"There'll  be  plenty  of  them  up  soon,  don't  you 
think,  Tommie?"  the  skipper  asked. 

"Plenty,"  answered  Tommie,  "plenty,"  with 
his  eyes  ever  on  the  fish.  "I  think  Sam  Hollis 
has  got  his  all  right,  but  Pitt  Ripley — I  don't 
know." 

It  was  getting  well  along  toward  sunset  then, 
with  everybody  worried,  the  skipper  still  aloft,  and 
one  boat  making  ready  to  set  about  a  mile  inside 
of  us.  "They'll  dive,"  said  our  skipper,  and 
they  did.  "There's  Pitt  Ripley's  school  now,"  and 
he  pointed  to  where  a  raft  of  mackerel  were  rising 
and  rippling  the  water  black,  and  heading  for  the 
north.  "There's  another  gone  down,  too — 
they'll  dive  that  fellow.  Who  is  it — Al  McNeill? 
— yes.  But  they'll  come  up  again,  and  when  it 
does,  it's  ours."  And  they  did  come  up,  and  when 
they  did  the  skipper  made  a  jump  and  roared, 
"Into  the  boat!"  There  was  a  scramble.  "Stay 
up  here,  you  Billie,  and  watch  the  school,"  he  said 
to  Hurd,  and  "Go  down,  you,"  to  me.  I  slid 
down  by  the  jib  halyards.  The  skipper  and 
Clancy  came  down  by  the  back-stay  and  beat  me 
to  the  deck.  They  must  have  tumbled  down,  they 
were  down  so  quick. 

"Hurry — the  Aurora's  going  after  it,  too." 
The  Aurora  was  one  of  Withrow's  fleet  and  we 
were  bound  to  beat  her.  I  had  hardly  time  to 

73 


The  Seiners 

leap  into  the  dory  after  Clancy,  and  we  were  off, 
with  nobody  left  aboard  but  Hurd  to  the  mast 
head  and  the  cook,  who  was  to  stay  on  deck  and 
sail  the  vessel. 

In  the  seine-boat  it  was  double-banked  oars, 
nine  long  blades  and  a  monstrous  big  one  steering 
— good  as  another  oar  that — and  all  driving  for 
dear  life,  with  Long  Steve  and  a  cork-passer 
standing  by  the  seine  and  the  skipper  on  top  of 
it,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  school  ahead — his 
only  motions  to  open  his  mouth  and  to  wave  with 
his  hands  to  the  steersman  behind  him.  "Drive 
her — drive  her,"  he  called  to  the  crew.  "More 
yet — more  yet,"  to  the  steering  oar.  "There's  the 
porgy  steamer's  boat,  too,  after  the  same  school. 
Drive  her  now,  fellows!" 

The  mackerel  were  wild  as  could  be,  great  rafts 
of  them,  and  travelling  faster  than  the  old  seiners 
in  the  gang  said  they  had  ever  seen  them  travel 
before,  and  what  was  worse,  not  staying  up  long. 
There  were  boats  out  from  three  or  four  vessels 
before  we  pushed  off  with  ours.  I  remember  the 
porgy  steamer  had  cut  in  ahead  and  given  their 
boat  a  long  start  for  a  school.  However,  that 
school  did  not  stay  up  long  enough  and  they  had 
their  row  for  nothing.  But  then  their  steamer 
picked  them  up  again  and  dropped  them  on  the 
way  to  the  same  school  that  we  were  trying  for. 

74 


Mackerel 

How  some  of  our  gang  did  swear  at  them !    And 
all  because  they  were  steam  power. 

It  promised  to  be  a  pretty  little  race,  but  that 
school,  too,  went  down  before  either  of  us  could 
head  it,  and  so  it  was  another  row  for  nothing. 
We  lay  on  our  oars  then,  both  boats  ready  for 
another  row,  with  the  skipper  and  seine-heaver  in 
each  standing  on  top  of  the  seine  and  watch 
ing  for  the  fish  to  show  again.  Of  course  both 
gangs  were  sizing  each  other  up,  too.  I  think 
myself  that  the  Duncan's  crowd  were  a  huskier 
lot  of  men  than  the  steamer's.  Our  fellows  looked 
more  like  fishermen,  as  was  to  be  expected,  because 
in  Gloucester  good  fishermen  are  so  common  that 
naturally,  a  man  hailing  from  there  gets  so  that 
he  wants  to  be  a  good  fisherman,  too,  and  of  course 
the  men  coming  there  are  all  pretty  good  to  begin 
with,  leaving  out  the  fellows  who  are  born  and 
brought  up  around  Gloucester  and  who  have  it  in 
their  blood.  A  man  doesn't  leave  Newfoundland 
or  Cape  Breton  or  even  Nova  Scotia  or  Maine 
and  the  islands  along  the  coast,  or  give  up  any 
safe,  steady  work  he  may  have,  to  come  to 
Gloucester  to  fish  unless  he  feels  that  he  can  come 
pretty  near  to  holding  his  end  up.  That's  not 
saying  that  a  whole  lot  of  fine  fishermen  do  not 
stay  at  home,  with  never  any  desire  to  fish  out  of 
Gloucester,  in  spite  of  the  good  money  that  a  fish- 

75] 


The  Seiners 

erman  with  a  good  skipper  can  make  from  there, 
but  just  the  same  they're  a  pretty  smart  and  able 
lot  that  do  come.  And  so,  while  our  gang  was 
half  made  up  of  men  that  were  born  far  away 
from  Gloucester,  yet  they  had  the  Gloucester 
spirit,  which  is  everything  in  deep-sea  fishing, 
when  nerve  and  strength  and  skill  count  for  so 
much.  And  this  other  crowd — the  porgy  steam 
er's — did  not  have  that  look. 

"Look  at  what  we're  coming  to,"  somebody 
called.  "All  steam  boys  soon,  and  on  wages — 
wages!"  he  repeated,  "and  going  around  the 
deck,  with  a  blue  guernsey  with  letters  on  the  chest 
of  it — A.D.Q. — or  some  other  damn  company." 

"Well,  that  would  not  be  bad  either,  with  your 
grub  bill  sure  and  your  money  counted  out  at  the 
end  of  every  month,"  answered  somebody  else. 

I  was  sizing  up  the  two  gangs  myself,  I  being 
in  the  dory  with  Clancy,  and  I  guess  that  nearly 
everyone  of  us  was  doing  the  same  thing  and 
keeping  an  eye  out  for  fish  at  the  same  time,  when 
all  at  once  a  school  popped  up  the  other  side  of 
the  porgyman's  boat.  Perhaps,  half  a  mile  it  was 
and,  for  a  wonder,  not  going  like  a  streak. 

We  saw  it  first  and  got  to  going  first,  but  the 
Aurora's  boat  and  the  steamer's  boat  were  nearer, 
and  so  when  we  were  all  under  good  headway 
there  were  two  lengths  or  so  that  we  had  to  make 

76 


Mackerel 

up  on  each.  Well,  that  was  all  right.  Two 
lengths  weren't  so  many,  and  we  drove  her.  It 
was  something  to  see  the  fellows  lay  out  to  it 
then — doubled-banked,  two  men  to  each  wide  seat 
and  each  man  with  a  long  oar,  which  he  had 
picked  out  and  trimmed  to  suit  himself,  and  every 
man  in  his  own  particular  place  as  if  in  a  racing 
crew. 

And  now  every  man  was  bending  to  it.  A  big 
fellow,  named  Rory  McKinnon,  was  setting  the 
stroke.  There  was  a  kick  and  a  heave  to  every 
stroke,  and  the  men  encouraging  each  other. 
"Now — now — give  it  to  her,"  was  all  that  I  could 
hear  coming  out  of  him.  All  this  time  we  in  the 
dory  were  coming  on  behind,  Clancy  and  I  hav 
ing  to  beat  their  dory  just  as  our  boat  had  to 
beat  their  boat.  And  we  were  driving,  too,  you 
may  be  sure.  Clancy  was  making  his  oars  bend 
like  whips.  "Blast  'em!  There's  no  stiffness  to 
'em,"  he  was  complaining.  And  then,  "Sock  it  to 
her,"  he  would  call  out  to  our  fellows  in  the  seine- 
boat.  "We've  got  the  porgy  crew  licked — that's 
the  stuff,"  came  from  the  skipper.  From  on  top  of 
the  seine  he  was  watching  the  fish,  watching  the 
gang,  watching  the  other  boats,  watching  us  in 
the  dory — watching  everything.  Whoever  made 
a  slip  then  would  hear  from  it  afterwards,  we 
knew.  And  clip,  clip,  clip  it  was,  with  the  swash 

77 


The  Seiners 

just  curling  nicely  under  the  bow  of  the  other 
boat,  and  I  suppose  our  own,  too,  if  we  could 
have  seen. 

Our  boat  was  gaining  on  the  Aurora's  and  the 
skipper  was  warming  up.  The  fish  was  going  the 
same  way  we  were,  still  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead. 

"Drive  her,"  said  the  skipper.  "Drive  her — 
drive  her — another  length  and  you  got  'em.  And, 
Kenney,  it's  the  best  of  ash  you've  got.  Don't  be 
afraid  of  breaking  it.  And,  Dan  Burns,  didn't 
y'ever  learn  to  keep  stroke  in  the  Bay  of  Islands 
with  nine  more  men  beside  you  rowing?  And 
drive  her — hit  her  up  now — here's  where  we  got 
'em — they  can't  hold  it  on  their  lives.  Now  then, 
another  dozen  strokes  and  it's  over.  One,  two, 
three — quicker,  Lord,  quicker — six,  seven — oh, 
now  she's  fair  flying — look  at  her  leap.  You 
blessed  lobster,  keep  rowing  and  not  looking  over 
your  shoulder.  We  got  to  get  the  fish  first." 

A  quarter  mile  of  that  with  the  foam  ripping 
by  us,  and  every  man  with  his  blood  like  fire 
jumping  to  his  oar,  when  the  skipper  leaped  back 
to  the  steering  oar.  "Stand  by,"  he  called,  and 
then,  "Now — over  with  the  buoy,"  and  over  it 
went,  with  the  dory  at  hand  and  Tommie  Clancy 
right  there  to  pick  it  up  and  hold  it  to  windward. 
And  then  went  the  seine  over  in  huge  armfuls. 
Just  to  see  Long  Steve  throw  that  seine  was  worth 

7.8 


Mackerel 

a  trip  South.  And  he  was  vain  as  a  child  of  his 
strength  and  endurance.  "My,  but  look  at  him!" 
Clancy  called  out — "look  at  the  back  of  himi" 
"He's  a  horse,"  somebody  else  would  have  to 
say,  and  "H-g-gh,"  Steve  would  grunt,  and 
"H-g-gh"  he  would  fill  the  air  full  of  tarred  net 
ting,  "H-g-gh — pass  them  corks,"  and  over  it 
would  go,  "H-g-gh,"  and  the  skipper  would  say, 
"That's  the  boy,  Steve,"  and  Steve  would  heave 
to  break  his  back  right  then  and  there.  All  the 
time  they  were  driving  the  seine-boat  to  its  limit, 
and  the  skipper  was  laying  to  the  big  steering  oar, 
the  longest  of  them  all  and  taking  a  strong  man 
to  handle  it  properly — laying  to  it,  swinging  from 
the  waist  like  a  hammer-thrower,  and  the  boat 
jumping  to  it.  She  came  jumping  right  for  us  in 
the  dory  in  a  little  while.  It  doesn't  take  a  good 
gang  long  to  put  a  quarter  mile  of  netting  around 
a  school  of  mackerel. 

It  was  a  pretty  set  he  made.  "Pretty,  pretty," 
you  could  almost  hear  the  old  seiners  saying  be 
tween  their  teeth,  even  as  they  were  all  rowing 
with  jaws  set  and  never  a  let-up  until  the  circle 
was  completed,  when  it  was  oars  into  the  air  and 
Clancy  leaping  from  the  dory  into  the  seine-boat 
to  help  purse  up.  "It's  a  raft  if  ever  we  get  'em," 
were  his  first  words,  and  everybody  that  wasn't 
too  breathless  said  yes,  it  was  a  jeesly  raft  of  fish. 

79 


The  Seiners 

"Purse  in,"  it  was  then,  and  lively.  And  so  we 
pursed  in,  hauling  on  the  running  line  in  the  lower 
edge  of  the  seine,  something  as  the  string  around 
the  neck  of  a  tobacco  bag  is  drawn  tight.  It  was 
heavy  work  of  course,  but  everybody  made  light 
of  it.  We  could  not  tell  if  the  fish  were  in  it  or 
not.  The  leaders  might  have  dove  when  they  felt 
the  twine  against  their  noses  and  so  escaped  with 
the  whole  school  following  after,  or  they  might 
have  taken  no  alarm  and  stayed  in. 

So  we  pursed  in,  not  knowing  whether  we  were 
to  have  a  good  haul  with  a  hundred  or  a  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  apiece  at  the  end  of  it,  or  whether 
we  would  have  our  work  for  nothing.  All  hands 
kept  up  the  pretence  of  joking,  of  course,  but  every 
body  was  anxious  enough.  It  was  more  than  the 
money — it  was  fisherman's  pride.  Were  we  to  get 
into  New  York  and  have  it  telegraphed  on  to 
Gloucester  for  everybody  that  knew  us  to  read  and 
talk  about — landing  the  first  mackerel  of  the 
year?  We  watched  while  the  circle  narrowed  and 
the  pool  inside  grew  shallower.  Somebody  said, 
"There's  one,"  and  we  could  see  the  shine  of  it, 
and  another — and  another — and  then  the  whole 
mass  of  them  rose  flipping.  They  lashed  the  water 
into  foam,  rushed  around  the  edges,  nosed  the 
corks  of  the  seine.  I  don't  think  myself  that 
mackerel  are  particularly  intelligent,  take  them 

80 


Mackerel 

generally;  but  at  times  they  seem  to  know — these 
fellows,  at  least,  seemed  to  know  they  were  gone 
and  they  thrashed  about  in  fury.  A  mackerel  is  a 
handsome  fish  any  time,  but  to  see  him  right  you 
want  to  see  him  fresh-seined.  They  whipped  the 
water  white  now — tens  of  thousands  of  them.  I 
don't  believe  that  the  oldest  seiner  there  didn't  feel 
his  heart  beat  faster — the  first  mackerel  of  the 
year.  "And  Lord  knows,  maybe  a  couple  of  hun 
dred  barrels,"  and  the  skipper's  eyes  shone — it 
meant  a  lot  to  him.  And  some  of  the  men  began 
to  talk  like  children,  they  were  so  pleased. 


81 


WE   LOSE   OUR   SEINE 

TWO  hundred  barrels  the  skipper  had  said, 
but  long  before  we  were  all  pursed  up  we 
knew  that  five  hundred  barrels  would  never  hold 
the  fish  in  that  seine.  The  size  of  that  school  filled 
us  with  joy  and  yet  it  was  the  very  size  of  it  that 
caused  us  our  trouble.  It  was  too  big  for  the  seine, 
and  when  they  began  to  settle  down  and  take  the 
twine  with  them  the  trouble  began  for  us.  No  bit 
of  twine  ever  made  to  be  handled  from  a  seine-boat 
was  big  enough  to  hold  that  school  of  fish  when 
they  began  to  go  down. 

The  skipper  was  awake  to  it  early  and  signalled 
for  the  vessel  to  come  alongside.  So  the  Johnnie 
stood  over  to  us,  and  Hurd,  pushing  the  spare  dory 
over  with  Moore's  help,  came  jumping  with  it  to 
the  side  of  the  seine  where  I  was  alone  in  the  first 
dory.  He  hadn't  even  stopped  to  get  into  his  oil 
skins,  he  was  in  such  a  hurry.  By  the  skipper's 
orders  I  had  made  fast  some  of  the  corks  to  the 
thwarts  in  the  dory  and  Billie  took  some  into  the 
spare  dory.  The  whole  length  of  the  seine-boat 
they  were  making  fast  the  seine  too.  In  that  way 

82 


We  Lose  Our  Seine 

the  skipper  hoped  to  buoy  up  the  fish  and  hold 
them  until  we  could  lighten  the  seine  up  by  bailing 
some  of  the  fish  onto  the  deck  of  the  vessel.  But 
it  was  of  no  use.  There  must  have  been  a  thousand 
barrels  of  them,  and  dories  and  seine-boat  began 
to  go  under.  It  was  over  the  rail  of  my  dory 
and  spare  dory  both,  and  both  Billie  and  myself 
to  our  waists,  when  the  skipper  sung  out  for  us  to 
jump  and  save  ourselves.  We  hung  on  a  little 
longer,  but  it  got  to  be  too  much  for  us  and  over 
board  we  went.  We  were  not  in  danger  then.  It 
is  true  that  the  sea  was  making  and  we  were 
weighted  down  with  oilskins  and  rubber  boots,  but 
we  had  for  support  the  corks  that  had  not  yet 
gone  under.  And  along  the  corks  we  hauled  our 
selves  toward  the  seine-boat.  I  was  praying  that 
the  sharks  that  sometimes  follow  up  mackerel 
would  not  bother  us.  It  is  probable  that  they 
would  not  even  if  there  were  any  around,  as  mack 
erel  are  better  eating.  And  such  a  fuss  as  we  made 
hauling  ourselves  through  the  water !  We'd  have 
scared  away  a  whole  school  of  sharks.  Before  we 
could  get  to  the  seine-boat  that,  too,  was  under. 
"Jump!"  called  the  skipper,  and  "Jump  every 
body!"  called  Clancy,  and  themselves  both  hang 
ing  on  to  a  last  handful  of  twine.  The  men  in  the 
seine-boat  jumped  and  struck  out  for  the  vessel, 
which  was  now  quite  close,  with  the  cook,  the  only 

83 


The  Seiners 

man  left  aboard,  throwing  over  keelers,  draw- 
buckets,  the  main  sheet — anything  within  his  reach 
that  was  loose  and  would  support  a  man. 

The  skipper  and  Clancy  hung  on  to  the  last. 
"Jump  you,  Tommie!"  called  the  skipper.  "Not 
me  till  you  go,"  answered  Clancy.  They  couldn't 
do  a  bit  of  good,  but  they  hung  on,  each  grabbing 
handfuls  of  twine  in  a  last  effort  to  hold  up  the 
seine.  The  seine-boat  went  under — and  they  up 
to  their  necks — and  then  it  turned  over  and  in 
toward  the  seine.  Some  of  us  hollered — we  were 
afraid  that  it  was  all  up  with  both  of  them — that 
they  would  be  thrown  toward  the  inside  and  tan 
gled  up  in  the  seine.  But  both  of  them  bobbed  up, 
the  skipper  saying  nothing,  but  Clancy  sputtering 
like  a  crazy  man.  The  dories  coming  loose  gave  a 
few  of  us  a  chance  to  climb  up  on  the  bottom  of 
them,  and  when  the  seine-boat  came  bobbing  up 
most  of  the  others  climbed  up  on  the  bottom  of 
that.  And  there  was  some  swearing  done  then, 
you  may  be  sure !  The  gang  would  have  been  all 
right  then,  waiting  to  be  picked  up  by  the  cook 
from  the  vessel,  which  was  then  pretty  handy ;  but 
the  seine-boat  started  to  go  under  again  and  then 
came  the  slap  of  a  little  sea,  and  overboard  went 
seven  or  eight  of  us.  Clancy  was  one  of  those 
thrown  into  the  water.  We  all  remembered  it 
afterwards  because  he  called  out  for  Andie  Howe. 


We  Lose  Our  Seine 

"Where's  Andie?" 

"Here,"  said  Andie. 

1  Where?" 

"Hanging  onto  the  bow  of  the  seine-boat." 

"Well,  hang  on  a  while  longer,"  said  Clancy  and 
struck  out  for  the  vessel,  and  made  it  too,  oilskins, 
big  boots  and  all.  He  threw  two  or  three  lines 
out  at  once — one  especially  to  Thad  Simpson,  the 
other  man  of  the  crew  besides  Andie  Howe  who  it 
was  known  couldn't  swim.  So  Clancy  hauled  him 
in.  The  third  man  he  hauled  in  was  Billie  Hurd. 

"Good  Lord,  Tommie,"  said  Billie,  "you  hove 
a  line  over  my  head  to  Andie  Howe." 

"You  pop-eyed  Spanish  mackerel!"  roared 
Clancy  at  him,  "you  ought  to  know  by  this  time 
that  Andie  can't  swim." 

"I  know,  but  he  was  all  oiled  up,  and  look 
at  me " 

"Go  to  hell,"  said  Clancy. 

We  all  got  aboard  after  a  while,  but  our  fine 
new  seine  was  gone,  and  the  big  school  of  fish  too. 
After  a  hard  grapple  we  got  the  dories  and  a  little 
later  the  seine-boat,  and  after  a  lot  more  work  we 
got  them  right  side  up.  The  dories  we  pulled  the 
plugs  out  of  to  let  them  drain  and  then  took 
them  on  deck,  but  the  seine-boat  we  had  to  pump 
out.  By  then  it  was  pretty  well  on  in  the  night 
and  I  remember  how  the  moon  rose  just  as  we  had 

85 


The  Seiners 

it  fairly  well  dried  out  and  dropped  astern — rose 
as  big  as  a  barrel-head  and  threw  a  yellow  light 
over  it,  and  then  went  out  of  sight,  for  a  breeze 
was  on  us. 

And  "Oh,  Lord!  that  thousand-barrel  school  1" 
groaned  everybody. 


86 


XI 

AN  OVER-NIGHT  BREEZE 

IT  wasn't  bad  enough  that  we  came  near  losing 
a  few  men  and  our  boat,  and  our  seine  alto 
gether,  but  it  must  come  on  to  breeze  up  on  top  of 
that  and  drive  us  off  the  grounds.  After  putting 
everything  to  rights,  we  were  having  a  mug-up  for 
ward  and  wondering  if  the  skipper  would  take  sail 
off  her  or  what,  when  we  heard  the  call  that 
settled  it. 

"On  deck  everybody!"  we  heard.  And  when 
we  got  there,  came  from  the  skipper,  "Take  in  the 
balloon,  tie  it  up  and  put  it  below.  Haul  down 
your  stays'l  too — and  go  aloft  a  couple  of  you, 
fore  and  aft,  and  put  the  tops'ls  in  gaskets." 

We  attended  to  that — a  gang  out  on  the  bow 
sprit,  half  a  dozen  aloft  and  so  on — with  the  skip 
per  to  the  wheel  while  it  was  being  done.  When 
we  had  finished  it  was,  "Haul  the  seine-boat  along 
side — pump  out  what  water's  left."  Then,  "Shift 
that  painter  and  hook  on  the  big  painter.  Drop 
her  astern  and  give  her  plenty  of  line.  Where's 
the  dory-men?  Where's  Tommie  and  Joe?  Haul 
the  dories  into  the  hatch,  Tommie,  and  make  'em 


The  Seiners 

fast.  Gripe  'em  good  while  you're  at  it.  Clear 
the  deck  of  all  loose  gear — put  it  below,  all  of  it — 
keelers,  everything.  Maybe  'twon't  be  much  of  a 
blow,  but  there's  no  telling — it  may.  She  mayn't 
be  the  kind  that  washes  everything  over,  but  put 
it  all  safe  anyway." 

The  skipper  watched  all  this  until  he  had  seen 
everything  cleared  up  and  heard  "All  fast  the 
dory,"  from  the  waist.  Then  he  looked  up  and 
took  note  of  sky  and  wind.  "Don't  feel  any  too 
good.  Maybe  'twill  blow  off,  but  we  might's  well 
run  in.  We'll  have  to  wait  for  our  other  seine 
anyway  and  Wesley  will  be  sure  to  put  into  the 
Breakwater  for  news  on  his  way  down,  especially 
if  it  comes  to  blow." 

He  dropped  below  then  to  light  his  pipe.  See 
ing  me  and  Parsons,  with  me  trying  to  fix  up  Par- 
sons's  leg  where  it  had  been  gashed — Eddie  never 
knew  how — in  the  mix-up  of  the  evening,  the 
skipper  said,  "There's  some  liniment  in  the  chest 
and  some  linen  in  one  of  the  drawers  under  my 
bunk.  Get  it.  And  some  of  you  might's  well  turn 
in  and  have  a  nap.  She'll  be  all  right — the  watch 
and  myself  can  look  after  her  now,"  and  he  went 
on  deck  again,  puffing  like  an  engine  to  keep  his 
pipe  going. 

Most  of  them  did  turn  in  and  were  soon  asleep. 
Some  of  the  older  men  had  a  smoke  and  an  over- 


An  Over-Night  Breeze 

hauling  of  their  wet  clothes,  while  a  few  joined  in  a 
little  game  of  draw  before  turning  in.  One  or  two 
were  deploring  the  loss  of  the  seine.  The  near 
ness  to  losing  lives  didn't  seem  to  be  worrying 
anybody.  For  myself,  I  was  somewhat  worked 
up.  There  was  one  time  in  the  water  when  I 
thought  I  was  gone.  So  I  went  on  deck  after  the 
skipper.  It  was  a  black  night  and  breezing  all 
the  time  and  I  wanted  to  see  how  the  vessel  be 
haved.  The  Johnnie  was  close-hauled  at  this 
time  and  swashing  under,  and  I  knew  without  ask 
ing  further  that  the  skipper  intended  to  make 
Delaware  Breakwater. 

While  hurrying  forward,  after  lending  a  hand 
to  batten  down  the  main  hatch — the  Johnnie 
plunging  along  all  the  time — and  my  head  per 
haps  a  little  too  high  in  the  air,  I  stumbled  off  the 
break  and  plump  over  a  man  under  the  windward 
rail.  I  thought  I  was  going  to  leeward  and  maybe 
overboard,  but  somebody  hooked  onto  the  full  in 
the  back  of  my  oil-jacket,  hauled  me  up  the  inclined 
deck  again,  and  in  a  roaring  whisper  said,  "Get  a 
hold  here,  Joey — here's  a  ring-bolt  for  you. 
Don't  let  go  on  your  life !  Isn't  it  fine?"  It  was 
Clancy.  He  had  nights,  I  know,  when  he  couldn't 
sleep,  and  like  me,  I  suppose,  he  wanted  to  watch 
the  sea,  which  just  then  was  firing  grandly.  Into 
this  sea  the  vessel  was  diving — nose  first — bring- 

89. 


The  Seiners 

ing  her  bowsprit  down,  down,  down,  and  then  up, 
up,  up,  until  her  thirty-seven-foot  bowsprit  would 
be  pointing  to  where  the  North  star  should  be. 
Whenever  she  heaved  like  that  I  could  feel  her 
deck  swelling  under  me.  I  remember  when  I  used 
to  play  foot-ball  at  the  high  school  at  home  and  it 
was  getting  handy  to  a  touch-down,  with  perhaps 
only  a  few  yards  to  gain  and  the  other  side  braced 
to  stop  it,  that  a  fellow  playing  back  had  to  buck 
like  that  from  under  a  line  when  he  had  to  scatter 
tons,  or  what  he  thought  was  tons,  of  people  on 
top  of  him.  The  vessel  was  that  way  now,  only 
with  every  dive  she  had  hundreds  of  tons  to  lift 
from  under.  At  a  time  like  that  you  can  feel  the 
ribs  of  a  vessel  brace  within  her  just  as  if  she  was 
human.  Now  I  could  almost  feel  her  heart 
pumping  and  her  lungs  pounding  somewhere  in 
side.  I  could  feel  her  brace  to  meet  it,  feel  her 
shiver,  as  if  she  was  scared  half  to  death,  and  al 
most  hear  her  screech  like  a  winner  every  time  she 
cleared  it  and  threw  it  over  her  head. 

Now  down  she  went — the  Johnnie  Duncan — 
down  and  forward,  for  she  wouldn't  be  held  back 
— shoulders  and  breast  slap  into  it.  Clear  to  her 
waist  she  went,  fighting  the  sea  from  her.  To 
either  side  were  tumbling  the  broken  waves,  curling 
away  like  beach  combers.  The  hollow  of  each  was 
a  curved  sheet  of  electric  white,  and  the  top — the 

90 


An  Over-Night  Breeze 

crest — was  a  heavier,  hotter  white.  The  crests 
would  rise  above  our  rail  and  break,  and  back  into 
the  hollows  would  fall  a  shower  of  shooting  stars 
that  almost  sizzled.  There  wasn't  a  star  above, 
but  millions  on  the  water ! 

"Ever  see  anything  like  that  ashore,  Joey-boy?" 
said  Clancy,  and  I  had  to  roar  a  whisper  that  I 
never  had. 

Through  this  play  of  fire  the  Johnnie  leaped 
with  great  bounds.  She  boiled  her  way,  and  astern 
she  left  a  wake  in  which  the  seine-boat  was  rear 
ing  and  diving  with  a  fine  little  independent  trail 
of  its  own. 

Two  men  forward — the  watch — were  leaning 
over  the  windlass  and  peering  into  the  night. 
They  were  there  for  whatever  they  might  see,  but 
particularly  were  they  looking  for  the  double  white 
light  of  Five  Fathom  Bank  lightship.  The  skip 
per  was  at  the  wheel.  When  he  got  in  the  way  of 
the  cabin  light,  we  could  catch  the  shine  from  his 
dripping  oil-clothes,  and  the  spark  from  his  pipe — 
which  he  kept  going  through  it  all — marked  his 
position  when  he  stepped  back  into  the  darkness. 

Clancy  noticed  him.  "There's  a  man  for  you, 
Joey.  Think  what  it  meant  to  a  young  skipper 
with  a  new  vessel — the  loss  of  that  school  and  the 
seine  on  top  of  it  the  very  first  day  he  struck  fish. 
If  we'd  got  that,  he  might  have  been  the  first  vessel 

91 


The  Seiners 

of  the  year  into  the  New  York  market.  And  think 
of  the  price  the  first  fish  fetch ! — and  the  honor  of 
it — and  he  breaking  his  heart  to  make  a  reputation 
this  year.  And  yet  not  a  yip  out  of  him — not  a 
cranky  word  to  one  of  the  gang  all  night.  A 
great  man  I  call  him — and  a  fisherman."  I 
thought  so,  too. 

Sometimes  I  imagined  I  could  see  the  wink  of 
red  and  green  lights  abreast  and  astern,  which  I 
probably  did,  for  there  should  have  been  fifty  sail 
or  so  of  seiners  inside  and  outside  of  us — there 
were  sixty  sail  of  the  fleet  in  sight  that  afternoon — 
and  I  knew  that,  barring  a  possible  few  that  had 
got  fish  and  were  driving  for  the  New  York  mar 
ket,  all  the  others  were  like  ourselves,  under  lower 
sails  and  boring  into  it,  with  extra  lookout  forward, 
the  skipper  at  the  wheel  or  on  the  quarter  and  all 
ears  and  eyes  for  the  surf  and  lights  inshore  when 
we  should  get  there. 

"Something  ahead!  dead  ahead!  sa-ail!"  came 
suddenly  from  forward.  There  was  a  scraping 
of  boot-heels  at  the  wheel.  "What  d'y'make  of 
it? — all  right,  I  see  her!"  In  the  shadow  we  saw 
the  skipper  pulling  the  wheel  down.  Ahead  I 
imagined  I  saw  a  dark  patch,  but  to  make  sure  I 
squirmed  up  to  the  fore-rigging.  Whoever  she 
was,  the  light  from  her  cabin  skylight  was  right 
there  and  I  realized  that  we  were  pretty  close,  but 

92 


An  Over-Night  Breeze 

not  really  how  close  until  a  boat  bobbed  up  under 
my  jaws  almost.  Right  from  under  our  bow  it 
heaved.  It  was  a  seiner  and  that  was  her  seine- 
boat  towing  astern,  and  I  could  easily  have  heaved 
a  line  to  her  helmsman  as  we  swept  by  her.  There 
was  an  awfully  tall  shadow  of  sails — half  up  to 
the  clouds  I  thought — and  the  black  of  the  hull 
looked  as  long  as  a  dock.  A  voice  was  hurled  to 
us,  but  we  couldn't  quite  make  it  out — but  it  was 
the  watch,  probably,  saying  a  word  or  two  by  way 
of  easing  his  feelings. 

We  worked  up  to  the  windward  of  that  one  and 
slowly  crowded  past  her  tumbling  green  light. 
Then  the  skipper  let  the  wheel  fly  up  and  we  shot 
ahead  vand  soon  we  had  her  directly  astern,  with 
her  one  green  and  one  red  eye  looking  after  us. 
"That's  one  fellow  we  outsail,"  thought  I  to  my 
self,  and  I  knew  I  was  beginning  to  love  the 
Johnnie  Duncan. 

All  through  that  night  it  went  on  like  that. 

At  four  o'clock  or  so  in  the  morning  the  cook 
stuck  his  head  out  of  the  slit  in  the  forec's'le  com- 
panionway  and  spoke  his  welcome  little  piece. 
"Can't  have  any  reg'lar  sit-down  this  morning, 
boys.  Have  to  leave  the  china  in  the  becket  for 
a  while  yet,  but  all  that  wants  can  make  a  mug-up, 
and  when  we  get  inside — if  we  do  in  anything  like 
a  decent  hour — we'll  have  breakfast." 

93 


The  Seiners 

At  five  o'clock  the  sky  began  to  brighten  to  the 
eastward,  but  there  was  no  let-up  to  the  wind  or 
sea.  If  anything  it  was  breezing  up.  At  six 
o'clock,  when  the  short  blasts  of  the  lightship  split 
the  air  abreast  of  us,  things  were  good  and  lively, 
but  there  was  no  daylight  to  go  by  then.  The  wash 
that  in  the  night  only  buried  her  bow  good  was 
then  coming  over  her  to  the  foremast  and  filling 
the  gangway  between  the  house  and  rail  as  it  raced 
aft.  The  beauty  of  double-lashing  the  dories  be 
gan  to  appear,  and  all  hands  might  have  been 
towing  astern  all  night  by  the  look  of  them.  But 
the  Johnnie  Duncan  was  doing  well  and  the  opin 
ion  of  the  crew  generally  was  that  the  skipper 
could  slap  every  rag  to  her  and  she'd  carry  it — 
that  is,  if  she  had  to.  The  skipper  put  her  more 
westerly  after  we  had  passed  the  lightship  and 
on  we  went. 

We  had  the  company  of  a  couple  of  coasters  in 
this  part  of  the  drive ;  and  by  that,  if  nothing  else, 
a  man  might  know  we  were  inshore.  Some 
Gloucester  men  were  in  sight,  too,  though  most  of 
the  fleet,  we  guessed,  were  still  outside  of  us.  The 
coasters  were  colliers,  three-masters  both,  and 
reefed  down,  wallowing  in  the  sea.  One  had  her 
foretopmast  snapped  short  off,  and  such  patched 
sails  as  she  had  on  looked  lonesome.  The  gang,  of 
course,  had  to  make  fun  of  her. 

94 


An  Over-Night  Breeze 

"There's  one  way  to  house  a  topm'st!" 

"Broke  your  clothes-pole,  old  girl!" 

"Better  take  in  your  washing  there — looks  like 
rain!" 

"Go  it,  you  beauty !  I  only  wish  I  had  my  cam- 
eraw.  If  y'only  suspected  how  lovely  you  look!" 

Two  big  ocean  tugs,  one  clear  white  and  one  all 
black,  offered  a  change  in  looks,  though  in  nothing 
else,  for  each  one,  with  two  barges  of  coal,  was 
making  desperate  hauling  of  it,  and  the  Break 
water  yet  a  good  bit  away. 

"Hustle  'em,  you  husky  coal-jammers!"  roared 
Parsons  at  them,  as  if  he  could  be  heard  beyond 
the  rail.  "I  wouldn't  be  aboard  of  you  for  my 
share  of  the  Southern  trip — and  mackerel  away  up 
in  G,  too.  Would  you,  Billie?" 

"Then?  Naw!"  said  Hurd,  with  a  wrinkling 
of  his  little  nose. 

"No,"  nor  me  neither,"  said  Long  Steve.  "Hi — 
ever  hear  the  cook — ever  hear  George  Moore's 
song: — 

<  If  ever  you  go  to  sea,  my  boy, 
Don't  ever  you  ship  on  a  steamer  ; 
There' s  stacks  to  scrape  and  rails  to  paint — 
It's  always  work  to  clean  her. 
When  the  wind  is  wrong  and  the  shore  is  by, 
They'll  keep  you  clear  of  leeway, 
But  they  roll  and  they  jolt  and  they're  never  dry— 
They're  the  devil's  own  in  a  sea-way! '  " 

95 


The  Seiners 

Steve,  trying  to  sing  that,  had  one  hand  hooked 
into  a  ring-bolt  under  the  rail  and  he  was  slowly 
pickling — we  were  all  pickling — like  a  salted 
mackerel  in  a  barrel. 

An  hour  past  Five  Fathom  and  the  tall  white 
tower  of  Cape  Henlopen  could  be  made  out  ahead, 
as  well  as  the  gray  tower  of  Cape  May  through  the 
mists  to  the  northward.  The  wind  was  coming 
faster  and  it  felt  heavier.  We  could  judge  best  of 
how  we  were  looking  ourselves  by  watching  all  our 
fellows  near  by.  We  could  see  to  the  bottom 
planks  of  two  to  leeward  of  us,  while  on  the  slop 
ing  deck  of  one  to  windward  it  was  plain  that  only 
what  was  lashed  or  bolted  was  still  there.  When 
they  reared  they  almost  stood  up  straight,  and 
when  they  scooped  into  it  the  wonder  was  that  all 
the  water  taken  aboard  didn't  hold  her  until  the 
next  comber  could  have  a  fair  whack  at  her. 

The  men — that  is,  a  few  of  them — might  joke, 
but  were  all  glad  to  be  getting  in.  There's  no  fun 
staying  wet  and  getting  wetter  all  night  long.  If 
it  wasn't  for  the  wetness  of  a  fellow  it  would  have 
been  great,  for  it  was  the  finest  kind  of  ex 
citement,  our  running  to  harbor — that  night — 
especially  in  the  morning  when  we  were  passing 
three  or  four  and  nobody  passing  us.  We  went 
by  one  fellow — the  Martinet  she  was — a  fair 
enough  sailer — passed  her  to  windward  of  course, 


An   Over-Night  Breeze 

our  gang  looking  across  at  their  gang  and  nobody 
saying  a  word,  but  everybody  thinking  a  lot,  you 
may  be  sure.  It  was  worth  a  square  meal  that. 

With  the  Martinet  astern,  the  skipper  let  her 
pay  off  and  run  for  the  end  of  the  Breakwater. 
For  a  while  he  let  the  wind  take  her  fair  abeam, 
with  sheets  in,  and  the  way  she  sizzled  through  the 
water  was  a  caution.  There  was  a  moment  that 
an  extra  good  blast  hit  her  that  my  heart  sank, 
but  I  reflected  that  the  skipper  knew  his  business, 
and  so  tried  to  take  it  unconcernedly.  Everybody 
around  me  was  joking  and  laughing — to  think,  I 
suppose,  that  we  would  soon  be  in. 

A  moment  after  that  I  went  down  to  leeward. 
The  sea  was  bubbling  in  over  her  rail  at  the  fore- 
rigging  and  I  wanted  to  get  the  feel  of  it.  I  got 
it.  It  is  pretty  shoal  water  on  the  bar  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Delaware  River  and  quite  a  little  sea  on 
when  it  blows.  One  sea  came  aboard.  Somebody 
yelled  and  I  saw  it — but  too  late — and  slap !  over 
I  went— over  the  rail — big  boots  and  oilskins  I 
went  down  into  the  roaring.  For  a  second  my 
head  came  up  and  I  saw  the  vessel.  Everybody 
aboard  was  standing  by.  The  skipper  was  whirl 
ing  the  spokes  and  the  vessel  was  coming  around 
like  a  top.  I  never  saw  a  vessel  roll  down  so 
far  in  all  my  life.  I  went  under  again  and  coming 
up  heard  a  dull  shout.  There  was  a  line  beside 

97 


The  Seiners 

me.  "Grab  hold!"  yelled  somebody.  No  need 
to  tell  me — I  grabbed  hold.  It  was  the  seine- 
boat's  painter.  The  Johnnie  was  still  shooting  and 
when  the  line  tautened  it  came  as  near  to  pulling 
my  arms  out  of  my  shoulders  as  ever  I  want  to 
have  them  again.  But  I  hung  on.  Then  she  came 
up,  and  they  hauled  the  painter  in  and  gaffed  me 
over  the  rail. 

"You  blankety  blank  fool!"  roared  Clancy,  as 
soon  as  I  stood  up — udon't  you  know  any  better? 
A  fine  thing  we'd  have  to  be  telegraphing  home, 
wouldn't  it?  Are  you  all  right  now?" 

"All  right,"  I  said,  and  felt  pretty  cheap. 

While  being  hauled  in,  knowing  that  I  was 
safe,  I  had  been  thinking  what  a  fine  little  ad 
venture  I'd  have  to  tell  when  we  got  back  to 
Gloucester,  but  after  Clancy  got  through  with  me 
I  saw  that  there  were  two  ways  to  look  at  it.  So 
I  took  my  old  place  under  the  windward  rail  and 
didn't  move  from  there  again  till  it  was  time  to 
take  sail  off  her. 


XII 

THE  FLEET  RUNS  TO  HARBOR 

N EARING  the  Breakwater  we  had  more  com 
pany.  Other  seiners,  with  boats  astern  and 
dories  on  deck,  were  coming  in;  jumbo,  jib,  fore 
and  reefed  main-sail  generally,  and  all  plunging 
gloriously  with  a  harbor  near  at  hand. 

For  the  next  few  hours  of  that  morning  any 
watcher  in  the  lighthouse  on  the  Breakwater  could 
have  seen  plenty  of  samples  of  clever  seamanship. 
At  our  time  we  were  only  one  of  a  half-dozen  at 
the  business  of  working  around  the  jetty,  some 
making  for  one  end  and  some  for  the  other. 
There  was  a  great  trying  of  tacks  and  some  plain 
criticism  of  tactics  and  weatherly  qualities.  There 
was  one  who  tried  to  cut  in  before  he  could  quite 
make  it.  When  he  had  to  put  back  or  run  ashore 
and  lose  her,  a  great  laugh  went  up,  though  there 
was  nothing  the  matter  with  the  try.  He  had  only 
tried  too  much. 

Eddie  Parsons  was  the  sharp  critic.  "Trying  to 
beat  out  the  fleet,  hey  ?  And  with  that  old  hooker  ? 
Nothing  wrong  with  your  nerve,  old  man,  but 
some  fine  day,  when  there's  a  little  wind  stirring, 
you'll  roll  that  tub  over  a  little  too  far.  That's 

99 


The  Seiners 

right — jam  her  up  now!  Think  you  got  a  steam 
boat  ?  Wonder  nobody  ever  told  you  about  sailing 
a  vessel.  Come  out  of  it,  old  man,  and  let  her 
swing  off." 

We  had  yet  to  get  in  ourselves,  and  that  we  had 
the  Johnnie  Duncan  to  eat  into  the  wind  we  were 
thankful.  At  last  we  were  by  and  reaching  down 
to  the  end  of  the  jetty.  We  all  began  to  feel  good 
once  we  were  sure  of  it.  It  was  fine,  too,  to  listen 
to  Clancy  as  we  got  near.  He  was  standing  on 
the  break,  leaning  against  the  weather  rigging  and 
looking  forward. 

"You'd  think  she'd  been  coming  here  for  a 
hundred  years,  wouldn't  you?  Look  at  her  point 
her  nose  now  at  that  beacon — don't  have  to  give 
this  one  the  wheel  at  all.  She's  the  girl.  See  her 
bow  off  now.  Man,  but  she  knows  as  well  as  you 
and  me  she'll  be  inside  and  snug's  a  kenched 
mackerel  before  long.  Watch  her  kick  into  the 
wind  now.  Oh,  she's  the  lady,  this  one.  I've 
sailed  many  of  them,  but  she's  the  queen  of  them 
all,  this  one." 

A  half  dozen  of  lucky  fellows  were  in  before  us. 
We  drove  in  among  them,  under  the  bow  of  one 
and  past  the  stern  of  another.  They  were  all 
watching  us,  after  the  custom  of  the  fleet  in  harbor. 
We  knew  this  and  behaved  as  smartly  as  we  could 
without  slopping  over. 

100 


The  Fleet  Runs  to  Harbor 

By  and  by  our  skipper  picked  out  a  place  to  his 
fancy.  "Stand  by  halyards  and  down-hauls,"  was 
his  warning. 

"Ready— all  ready." 

"Ready  with  the  anchor!" 

"All  ready  the  anchor,  sir!" 

"Down  with  your  jib !  Down  with  jumbo  I  Let 
go  your  fore  halyards !  Watch  out  now — ready — 
let  go  your  anchor!" 

Rattle — whizz — whir-r-r — splash !  clink — and 
the  Johnnie  Duncan  of  Gloucester  was  safe  to  her 
mooring. 

And  not  till  then  did  our  skipper,  ten  hours  to 
the  wheel,  unclinch  his  grip,  hook  the  becket  to  a 
spoke,  slat  his  sou'wester  on  the  wheel-box  and 
ease  his  mind. 

"Thank  the  Lord,  there's  a  jeesly  blow  behind 
us.  There's  some  outside'll  wish  they  had  a  shore 
job  before  they  get  in.  Hi,  boys,  when  you  get 
her  tied  up  for'ard,  better  all  go  below  and  have  a 
bite  to  eat.  Let  the  mains'l  stand  and  give  it  a 
chance  to  dry."  Then  he  looked  about  him. 
"And  I  didn't  notice  that  anybody  passed  us  on 
the  way."  There  was  a  whole  lot  in  that  last. 

After  eating  a  bite,  I  went  over  in  the  dory  to 
the  lighthouse  on  the  jetty,  where  seamen's  mail 
was  taken  care  of.  After  leaving  my  letters  I 
stopped  to  watch  some  of  the  fleet  coming.  It  was 

101 


The  Seiners 

easy  enough  to  pick  them.  The  long,  slick-look 
ing,  lively  seine-boat  in  tow  and  the  black  pile  of 
netting  on  deck  told  what  they  were,  and  they  came 
jumping  out  of  the  mists  in  a  way  to  make  a  man's 
heart  beat. 

There  was  a  man  standing  on  the  jetty.  He  was 
master  of  a  three-masted  coaster,  he  told  me. 
"You  come  off  one  of  them  Gloucester  mackerel- 
catchers?"  he  asked  me.  I  said  yes.  "That  new- 
looking  one  that  came  in  a  while  ago?"  I  said  yes 
again. 

"I  was  watching  her — she's  a  dream — a  dream. 
I  never  see  anything  like  them — the  whole  bunch 
of  'em.  Look  at  this  one — ain't  she  got  on  about 
all  she  can  stand  up  under  though?  My  soul, 
ain't  she  staggering!  I  expect  her  skipper  knows 
his  business — don't  expect  he'd  be  skipper  of  a 
fine  vessel  like  that  if  he  didn't.  But  if  'twas  me 
I'd  just  about  take  a  wide  tuck  or  two  in  that  ever- 
lastin'  mains'l  he's  got  there.  My  conscience,  but 
ain't  he  asockin'  it  to  her !  I  s'pose  that's  the  way 
some  of  your  vessels  are  sailed  out  and  never 
heard  from  again — that  was  never  run  into,  nor 
rolled  over,  nor  sunk  in  a  reg'lar  way,  but  just 
drove  right  into  it  head-first  trying  to  make  a  pas 
sage  and  drowned  before  ever  they  could  rise 
again.  Well,  good-luck  to  you,  old  girl,  and  your 
skipper,  whoever  he  is,  and  I  guess  if  your  canvas 

102 


The  Fleet  Runs  to  Harbor 

stays  on  you'll  be  to  anchor  before  a  great  while, 
for  you're  making  steamboat  time.  Go  it,  old 
girl,  and  your  little  baby  on  behind,  go  it!  There 
ain't  nothing  short  of  an  ocean  liner  could  get  you 
now.  Go  it !  a  sail  or  two  don't  matter — if  it's  a 
good  mackerel  season  I  s'pose  the  owners  don't 
mind  if  you  blow  away  a  few  sails.  Go  it,  God 
bless  you  !  Go  it !  you're  the  lads  can  sail  a  vessel, 
you  fishermen  of  Gloucester.  Lord,  if  I  dared  to 
try  a  thing  like  that  with  my  vessel  and  my  crew 
and  the  old  gear  I  got,  I  rather  expect  I'd  have  a 
rigger's  bill  by  the  time  I  got  home — if  ever  I  got 
home  carryin'  on  like  that  in  my  old  hooker." 

I  watched  her,  too.  She  was  the  Tarantula,  Jim 
Porter,  another  sail-carrier.  Around  the  point  and 
across  she  tore  and  over  toward  the  sands  beyond, 
swung  off  on  her  heel  to  her  skipper's  heave,  came 
down  by  the  wreck  of  a  big  three-master  on  the 
inner  beach,  and  around  and  up  opposite  what 
looked  like  a  building  on  the  hill.  Then  it  was 
down  with  the  wheel,  down  with  headsails,  let  go 
fore-halyards,  over  with  the  anchor,  and  there  she 
was,  another  fisherman  of  Gloucester,  at  rest  in 
harbor  after  an  all-night  fight  with  a  lively  breeze. 

And  I  left  the  master  of  the  coaster  there  and 
went  back  to  the  Duncan,  where  the  crew  were 
standing  along  the  rail  or  leaning  over  the  house 
and  having  a  lot  of  fun  sizing  up  those  who  were 

103 


The  Seiners 

coming  in.  It  is  one  of  the  enjoyments  of  the 
seining  fleet — this  racing  to  harbor  when  it  blows 
and  then  watching  the  others  work  in.  IVe  heard 
it  said  that  no  place  in  the  world  can  show  a  fleet 
like  them — all  fine  vessels,  from  one  hundred  to 
one  hundred  and  twenty  feet  over  all,  deep 
draught,  heavily  sparred,  and  provided  with  all 
kinds  of  sail.  They  were  ably  managed,  of  course, 
— and  a  dash  to  port  makes  the  finest  kind  of  a 
regatta.  No  better  chances  are  offered  to  try  ves 
sels  and  seamanship — no  drifting  or  flukes  but 
wind  enough  for  all  hands  and  on  all  points  of 
sailing  generally. 

They  came  swooping  in  one  after  the  other — 
like  huge  sea-gulls,  only  with  wings  held  close. 
Now,  with  plenty  of  light,  those  already  in  could 
easily  see  the  others  coming  long  before  they 
rounded  the  jetty.  Even  if  we  couldn't  see  the 
hulls  of  them,  there  were  fellows  who  could  name 
them — one  vessel  after  the  other — just  by  the  spars 
and  upper  rigging.  The  cut  of  a  topsail,  the  look 
of  a  masthead,  the  set  of  a  gaff — the  smallest 
little  thing  was  enough  to  place  them,  so  well  were 
they  acquainted  with  one  another.  And  the  dis 
tance  at  which  some  of  them  could  pick  out  a 
vessel  was  amazing. 

George  Moore,  coming  up  out  of  the  forec's'le 
to  dump  over  some  scraps,  spied  one.  "The  Mary 

104 


The  Fleet  Runs  to  Harbor 

Grace  Adams,"  he  sang  out, — "the  shortest 
foremast  out  of  Gloucester.  She  mustVe  been  well 
inside  when  she  started — to  get  in  at  this  time. 
Slow — man,  but  she  is  slow,  that  one." 

"Yes,  that's  the  old  girl,  and  behind  her  is  the 
Dreamer- — Charlie  Green — black  mastheads  and 
two  patches  on  her  jumbo.  She'll  be  in  and  all  fast 
before  the  Mary  Grace's  straightened  out." 

And  so  it  was — almost.  The  Mary  Adams  was 
one  of  the  older  fleet  and  never  much  of  a  sailer. 
The  Dreamer  was  one  of  the  newer  vessels,  able, 
and  a  big  sailer.  They  were  well  raked  by  the 
critics,  as  under  their  four  lowers  they  whipped  in 
and  around  and  passed  on  by. 

After  the  Dreamer  came  the  Madeline,  with 
"Black  Jack"  Hogan,  a  fleshy  man  for  a  fisher 
man,  who  minded  his  way  and  remained  unmoved 
at  the  compliments  paid  his  vessel,  one  of  the  prize 
beauties  of  the  fleet.  The  Marguerite,  Charley 
Falvey,  a  dog  at  seining,  always  among  the 
high-liners,  who  got  more  fun  out  of  a  summer's 
seining  than  most  men  ever  got  out  of  yachting, 
who  bought  all  the  latest  inventions  in  gear  as  fast 
as  they  came  out  and  who  had  a  dainty  way  of 
getting  fish.  The  Marguerite  dipped  her  bow  as 
she  passed,  while  her  clever  skipper  nodded  along 
the  line. 

The  King  Philip,  another  fast  beauty,  made  her 
105. 


The  Seiners 

bow  and  dipped  her  jibs  to  her  mates  in  harbor. 
At  sight  of  her  master,  Al  McNeill,  a  great  shout 
goes  up.  "Ho,  ho !  boys,  here's  Lucky  Al !  Whose 
seine  was  it  couldn't  hold  a  jeesly  big  school  one 
day  off  here  last  spring  but  Billie  Simms'?  Yes, 
sir,  Billie  Simms.  Billie  fills  up  and  was  just  about 
thinking  he'd  have  to  let  the  rest  go  when  who 
heaves  in  sight  and  rounds  to  and  says,  'Can  I  help 
y'out,  William?'  Who  but  Lucky  Al  McNeill, 
of  course.  Bales  out  two  hundred  barrels  as  nice 
fat  mackerel  as  anybody'd  want  to  see.  'Just  fills 
me  up,'  says  Al,  and  scoots  to  market.  Just  been 
to  New  York,  mind  you,  that  same  week  with  two 
hundred  and  fifty  barrels  he  got  twelve  cents 
apiece  for.  'Just  fills  me  up,'  says  Al,  and  scoots. 
No,  he  ain't  a  bit  lucky,  Captain  Al  ain't — mar 
ried  a  young  wife  only  last  fall." 

Then  followed  the  Albatross,  with  Mark 
Powers  giving  the  orders.  Then  the  Privateer,  an 
other  fast  one,  but  going  sluggishly  now  because  of 
a  stove-in  seine-boat  wallowing  astern.  Then  the 
North  Wind,  with  her  decks  swept  clear  of  every 
thing  but  her  house  and  hatches.  Seine-boat,  seine 
and  dory  were  gone. 

After  her  was  a  big,  powerful  vessel,  the  Ave 
Maria,  with  the  most  erratic  skipper  of  all.  This 
man  never  appeared  but  the  gossip  broke  out. 
Andie  Howe  had  his  record.  "Here  comes  George 

1 06 


The  Fleet  Runs  to  Harbor 

Ross.  What's  this  they  say  now? — that  he  don't 
come  down  from  the  mast-head  now  like  he  used 
to,  when  he  strikes  a  school.  When  I  was  with  him 
he  was  a  pretty  lively  man  comin'  from  aloft — 
used  to  sort  of  fall  down,  you  know.  But  now  he 
comes  down  gentle-like — slides  down  the  back 
stay.  Only  trouble  now  he's  got  to  get  new  rubber 
boots  every  other  trip,  'count  of  the  creases  he 
wears  in  the  legs  of  them  sliding  down  the  wire. 
I  tell  you  they  all  lose  their  nerve  as  they  get 
older.  There's  Billie  Simms  coming  behind  him. 
He's  given  up  tryin'  to  sail  his  vessel  on  the  side 
and  tryin'  to  see  how  long  he  c'n  carry  all  he  c'n 
pile  on.  Billie  says  't'ain't  like  when  a  fellow's 
young  and  ain't  got  any  family.  I  expect  it's  about 
the  same  with  George  since  he  got  married."  The 
master  of  the  Ave  Maria  didn't  even  glance  over 
as  he  piloted  his  vessel  along.  He  very  well  knew 
that  we  were  talking  about  him. 

Pretty  soon  came  one  that  everybody  looked  at 
doubtfully.  She  sported  a  new  mainmast  and  a 
new  fore-gaff.  uWho's  this  old  hooker  with  her 
new  spars  ?  Looks  like  a  vessel  just  home  from  salt 
fishing,  don't  she?  Lord,  but  she  needs  painting." 
Nobody  seemed  to  know  who  she  was,  and  as  she 
got  nearer  there  was  a  straining  of  eyes  for  her 
name  forward.  "The  H-A-R-B-I — oh,  the  Harb 
inger.  Must  be  old  Marks  and  the  old  craft  he 

107 


The  Seiners 

bought  down  East  last  fall.  This  the  old  man, 
of  course — the  Harbinger.  How  long's  she  been 
down  here?  Came  down  ahead  of  the  fleet? 
Well,  she  ought  to — by  the  looks  of  her  she  needs 
a  good  early  start  to  get  anywhere.  They  ought 
to  be  glad  to  get  in.  I  mind  that  September  breeze 
twenty  year  ago  that  the  old  man  said  blew  all  the 
water  off  Quero  and  drove  him  ashore  on  Sable 
Island.  He  says  he  ain't  taking  any  more  line 
storms  in  his.  No,  nor  anybody  else  in  the  old 
square-enders  he  gen'rally  sails  in.  I'll  bet  he's 
glad  to  change  winter  trawling  for  summer  sein 
ing.  I'll  bet  he  put  in  a  few  wakeful  nights  on 
the  Banks  in  his  time — mind  the  time  he  parted 
his  cable  and  came  bumping  over  Sable  Island 
No'the-east  Bar?  Found  the  only  channel  there 
was,  I  callate.  'Special  little  angels  was  looking 
out  for  me,'  he  says,  when  he  got  home.  'Yes,' 
says  Wesley  Marrs — he  was  telling  it  to  Wesley — 
'yes,'  says  Wesley,  'but  I'll  bet  keepin'  the  lead 
goin'  had  a  hell  of  a  lot  to  do  with  it,  too.' ' 

So  they  came  rolling  in  by  the  end  of  the  jetty 
until  they  could  make  one  last  tack  of  it.  Like 
tumbling  dolphins  they  were — seiners  all,  with  a 
single  boat  towing  astern  and  a  single  dory,  or 
sometimes  two  dories,  lashed  in  the  waist,  all  gear 
stowed  away,  under  four  lower  sails  mostly — 
jumbo,  jib,  fore  and  main,  though  now  and  then 

108 


The  Fleet  Runs  to  Harbor 

was  one  with  a  mainsail  in  stops  and  a  trysail  laced 
to  the  gaff,  and  all  laying  down  to  it  until  their 
rails  were  washing  under  and  the  sea  hissed  over 
the  bows. 

Anybody  would  have  to  admire  them  as  they 
came  scooting  past.  When  they  thought  they  were 
close  enough  to  the  Breakwater — and  some  went 
pretty  close — up  or  down  would  go  the  wheel, 
according  to  which  end  of  the  jetty  they  came  in 
by,  around  they  would  go,  and  across  the  flats  and 
down  on  the  fleet  they  would  come  shooting.  They 
breasted  into  the  hollows  like  any  sea-bird  and 
lifted  with  every  heave  to  shake  the  water  from 
bilge  to  quarter.  They  came  across  with  never  a 
let-up,  shaving  everything  along  the  way  until  a 
good  berth  was  picked  out.  Then  they  let  go  sails, 
dropped  anchor  and  were  ready  for  a  rest. 

Nobody  got  by  our  fellows  without  a  word. 
And  we  weren't  the  only  crew  of  critics.  Bungling 
seamanship  would  get  a  slashing  here,  but  there 
was  none  of  that.  It  was  all  good,  but  there  are 
degrees  of  goodness,  of  course.  First-class  seaman 
ship  being  a  matter  of  course,  only  a  wonderful 
exhibition  won  approval  from  everybody.  And 
crews  coming  in,  knowing  what  was  ahead  of 
them,  made  no  mistakes  in  that  harbor. 

A  dozen  ordinary  skippers  sailed  past  before  a 
famous  fisherman  at  length  came  in.  Everybody 


The  Seiners 

knew  him — a  dog,  a  high-liner,  truly  a  master 
manner.  A  murmur  went  up.  "There's  the  boy," 
said  Tommie  Clancy.  "I  mind  last  summer  when 
he  came  into  Souris  just  such  a  day  as  this,  but 
with  more  wind  stirring.  'Twas  Fourth  of  July 
and  we  had  all  our  flags  to  the  peak — and  some 
fine  patriotic  fights  going  on  ashore  that  day — our 
flag  and  the  English.  The  harbor  was  jammed 
with  seiners  and  fresh-fishers.  You  couldn't  see 
room  for  a  dory,  looking  at  'em  end  on.  But  that 
don't  jar  Tom  O'Donnell.  What  does  he  do  ?  He 
just  comes  in  and  sails  around  the  fleet  like  a  cup- 
defender  on  parade — and  every  bit  of  canvas  he 
had  aboard  flying — only  his  crew  had  to  hang 
onto  the  ring-bolts  under  the  wind'ard  rail.  Well, 
he  comes  piling  in,  looks  the  fleet  over,  sizes  up 
everything,  picks  out  a  nice  spot  as  he  shoots 
around,  sails  out  the  harbor  again — clean  out,  yes 
sir,  clean  out — comes  about — and  it  blowing  a  liv 
ing  gale  all  the  time — shoots  her  in  again,  dives 
across  a  line  of  us,  and  fetches  her  up  standing. 
We  could' ve  jumped  from  our  rail  to  his  in  jack 
boots,  he  was  that  close  to  us  and  another  fellow 
the  other  side.  Slid  her  in  like  you  slide  the  cover 
into  a  diddy  box.  Yes,  sir,  and  that's  the  same 
lad  you  see  coming  along  now — Tom  O'Donnell 
and  his  Colleen  Bawn." 

He  certainly  was  coming  on  now,  and  a  fine 
no 


The  Fleet  Runs  to  Harbor 

working  vessel  he  had.  She  showed  it  in  every 
move.  She  came  around  like  a  twin-screw  launch, 
picked  out  her  berth  like  she  had  intelligence  in  her 
eyes,  made  for  it,  swirled,  fluttered  like  a  bird,  felt 
with  her  claws  for  the  ground  underneath,  found 
it,  gripped  it,  swayed,  hung  on,  and  at  last  settled 
gently  in  her  place.  There  was  no  more  jar  to  the 
whole  thing  than  if  she  had  been  a  cat-boat  in  a 
summer  breeze.  "Pretty,  pretty,  pretty/'  you 
could  hear  the  gang  along  our  rail. 

"They  talk  about  knockabout  racing  craft,"  said 
Clancy,  "but  did  y'ever  see  anything  drop  to  a 
berth  slicker  than  that  ?  And  that's  a  vessel  you  c'n 
go  to  sea  in,  and  in  the  hardest  winter  gale  that 
ever  blew  you  c'n  turn  in  when  your  watch  is  done 
and  have  a  feeling  of  comfort." 

"Where's  the  steam  trawler,  the  porgy  boat,  we 
saw  yesterday?" 

"Put  into  Chincoteague  most  likely — nearer 
than  here." 

"That's  what  we'll  have  to  come  to  yet — steam 
ers,  and  go  on  wages  like  a  waiter  in  a  hotel." 

"Yes,"  said  Clancy,  "I  s'pose  so,  but  with  ves 
sels  like  we  got  and  the  seamen  sailing  out  of 
Gloucester  we'll  stave  'em  off  a  long  time  yet,  and 
even  as  it  is,  give  me  a  breeze  and  a  vessel  like  this 
one  under  us  and  we'll  beat  out  all  the  steam  fisher 
men  that  ever  turned  a  screw." 

in 


The  Seiners 

One  of  the  latest  experiments  in  a  fishermen's 
model  reached  in  then  and  her  coming  started  a 
chorus.  They  were  always  trying  new  models  in 
Gloucester,  everybody  was  so  anxious  to  have  a 
winner.  This  one's  sails  were  still  white  and 
pretty  and  her  hull  still  shiny  in  fresh  black  paint. 
The  red  stripe  along  her  rail  and  the  gold  stripe 
along  her  run  set  off  her  lines ;  her  gear  didn't  have 
a  speck  on  it,  her  spars  were  yellow  as  could  be 
and  to  leeward  we  thought  we  could  still  smell  the 
patent  varnish.  For  that  matter  there  were  several 
there  as  new-looking  as  she  was,  our  own  vessel 
for  one;  but  there  had  been  a  lot  of  talk  about 
this  one.  She  was  going  to  clean  out  the  fleet.  She 
had  been  pretending  to  a  lot,  and  as  she  hadn't  yet 
made  good,  of  course  she  got  a  great  raking. 

"She's  here  at  last,  boys — the  yacht,  the  wonder 
ful,  marvellous  Victory!  Ain't  she  a  bird?  Built 
to  beat  the  fleet !  Look  at  the  knockabout  bow  of 
her!" 

"Knockabout  googleums — h-yah!  Scoop  shovel 
snout  and  a  stern  ugly  as  a  battle-ship's,  and  the 
Lord  knows  there  was  overhang  and  to  spare 
to  tail  her  out  decent.  Cut  out  the  yellow  and  the 
red  and  the  whole  lot  of  gold  decorations  and 
she's  as  homely  as  a  Newf'undland  jack." 

"Just  the  same,  she  c'n  sail,"  said  somebody 
who  wanted  to  start  an  argument. 

112 


The  Fleet  Runs  to  Harbor 

"Sail!  Yah!  might  beat  a  Rockport  granite 
sloop.  Ever  hear  of  the  Henry  Clay  Parker, 
Mister  Billie  Simms,  and  the  little  licking  she 
gave  this  winner  of  yours  ?  No  ?  Well,  you  want 
to  go  around  and  have  a  drink  or  two  with  the  boys 
next  time  you're  ashore  and  get  the  news.  It  was 
like  a  dog-fish  and  a  mackerel — the  Henry  just  eat 
her  up.  And  there's  the  others.  Why,  this  one 
underneath  us'd  make  a  holy  show  of  her,  I'll  bet. 
And  there's  half  a  dozen  others.  There's  the — 
oh,  what's  the  use?" 

"Oh,  Eddie  Parsons,  a  perfect  lady  and  coming 
in  like  a  high-stepper  and  yet  you  must  malign  her 
beauty  and  make  light  of  her  virtue,"  and  Clancy 
jammed  Parsons's  sou'wester  down  over  his  eyes — 
"hush  up,  Eddie." 

Into  the  harbor  and  after  the  Victory  heaved 
another  one.  And  she  was  the  real  thing — hand 
some,  fast  and  able.  And  she  had  a  record  for 
bringing  the  fish  home — an  able  vessel  and  well- 
known  for  it.  She  could  carry  whole  sails  when 
some  of  the  others  were  double-reefed  and  think 
ing  of  dragging  trysails  out  of  the  hold.  And  her 
skipper  was  a  wonder. 

"You  c'n  cut  all  the  others  out — here  comes  the 
real  thing.  Here's  the  old  dog  himself.  Did  he 
ever  miss  a  blow  ?  And  look  at  him.  Every  man 
comes  in  here  to-day  under  four  lowers,  no  more, 


The  Seiners 

and  some  under  reefed  mains'l,  or  trys'l,  but  four 
whole  lowers  ain't  enough  for  this  gentleman — not 
for  Wesley.  He  must  carry  that  gaff-tops'l  if  he 
pulls  the  planks  out  of  her.  He  always  brings 
her  home,  but  if  some  of  the  underwriters'd  see 
him  out  here  they'd  soon  blacklist  him  till  he 
mended  his  ways.  It's  a  blessed  wonder  he  ain't 
found  bottom  before  this.  Look  at  her  now  skat 
ing  on  her  ear.  There  she  goes — if  they'd  just 
lower  a  man  over  the  weather  rail  with  a  line  on 
him  he  could  write  his  name  on  her  keel  I" 

And  she  certainly  was  something  to  make  a 
man's  eyes  stick  out.  There  had  been  a  vessel  or 
two  that  staggered  before,  but  the  Lucy  fairly 
rolled  down  into  it,  and  there  was  no  earthly  reason 
why  she  should  do  it  except  that  it  pleased  her 
skipper  to  sport  that  extra  kite. 

She  boiled  up  from  the  end  of  the  jetty,  and  her 
wake  was  the  wake  of  a  screw  steamer.  She  had 
come  from  home,  we  knew,  and  so  it  happened 
she  was  one  of  the  last  to  get  in.  The  harbor  was 
crowded  as  she  straightened  out.  We  knew  she 
would  not  have  too  much  leeway  coming  on,  and 
what  berth  she  was  after  kept  everybody  guessing. 

"If  she  goes  where's  she  pointing — and  most 
vessels  do — she'll  find  a  berth  down  on  the  beach 
on  that  course,  down  about  where  the  wreck  is. 
It'll  be  dry  enough  walking  when  she  gets  there. 

114 


The  Fleet  Runs  to  Harbor 

If  she  keeps  on  the  gait  she's  going  now,  she  ought 
to  be  able  to  fetch  good  and  high  and  dry  up  on 
the  mud.  They'd  cert'nly  be  able  to  step  ashore — 
when  they  get  there.  Ah-h-h,  but  that's  more 
like  it." 

She  was  taking  it  over  the  quarter  then.  She 
cleared  the  stern  of  the  most  leeward  of  the  fleet 
and  then  kicked  off,  heading  over  to  where  the 
Johnnie  Duncan  and  the  Victory  lay.  The  betting 
was  that  she  would  round  to  and  drop  in  between 
us  two.  There  was  room  there,  but  only  just  room. 
It  would  be  a  close  fit,  but  there  was  room. 

But  she  didn't  round  to.  She  held  straight  on 
without  the  sign  of  a  swerve.  On  the  Johnnie,  the 
gang  being  almost  in  her  path  picked  out  a  course 
for  her.  Between  the  outer  end  of  our  seine-boat 
and  the  end  of  the  bowsprit  of  the  Mary  Grace 
Adams  was  a  passage  that  may  have  been  the 
width  of  a  vessel.  But  the  space  seemed  too  nar 
row.  Our  crew  were  wondering  if  he  would  try 
it.  Even  the  skipper,  standing  in  the  companion- 
way,  stepped  up  on  deck  to  have  a  better  look. 

"He's  got  to  take  it  quarterin',  and  it  ain't  wide 
enough,"  said  Eddie  Parsons. 

"Quartering — yes,  but  with  everything  hauled 
inboard,"  said  the  skipper.  "He'll  try  it,  I  guess. 
I  was  with  him  for  two  years,  and  if  he  feels  like 
trying  it  he'll  try  it." 


The  Seiners 

"And  s'pose  he  does  try  it,  Skipper?" 

"Oh,  he'll  come  pretty  near  making  it,  though 
he  stands  a  good  chance  to  scrape  the  paint  off  our 
seine-boat  going  by.  No,  don't  touch  the  seine- 
boat — let  her  be  as  she  is.  We'll  fool  'em  if  they 
think  they  c'n  jar  anybody  here  coming  on  like 
that.  There's  room  enough  if  nothing  slips,  and 
if  they  hit  it's  their  look-out." 

It  looked  like  a  narrow  space  for  a  vessel  of  her 
beam  to  go  through,  but  she  hopped  along,  and 
the  eyes  of  all  the  harbor  followed  her  to  the 
point  where  she  must  turn  tail  or  make  the  passage. 

She  held  on — her  chance  to  go  back  was  gone. 

"Watch  her,  boys.  Now  she's  whooping — look 
at  her  come  I" 

And  she  was  coming.  Her  windward  side  was 
lifted  so  high  that  her  bottom  planks  could  be 
seen.  Her  oil-skinned  crew  were  crowded  for 
ward.  There  were  men  at  the  fore-halyards,  at 
jib-halyards,  at  the  down-hauls,  and  a  group  were 
standing  by  the  anchor.  Two  men  were  at  the 
wheel. 

She  bit  into  it.  There  was  froth  at  her  mouth* 
She  was  so  near  now  that  we  could  read  the  faces 
of  her  crew;  and  wide  awake  to  this  fine  seaman 
ship  we  all  leaned  over  the  rail,  the  better  to  see 
how  she'd  make  out.  The  crews  of  half  the  vessels 
inside  the  Breakwater  were  watching  her. 

116 


The  Fleet  Runs  to  Harbor 

She  was  a  length  away  and  jumping  to  it.  It 
was  yet  in  doubt,  but  she  was  certainly  rushing  to 
some  sort  of  a  finish.  She  rushed  on,  and  w-r-r-rp  I 
her  weather  bow  came  down  on  the  Johnnie's 
seine-boat.  But  it  didn't  quite  hit  it.  Her  quarter 
to  leeward  just  cut  under  the  Adams'  bowsprit  and 
the  leech  of  her  mainsail  seemed  to  flatten  past. 
For  a  moment  we  were  not  certain,  but  no  jolt  or 
lurch  came  and  our  seine-boat  seemed  all  right. 
Another  jump  and  she  was  clear  by.  And  then  we 
felt  like  cheering  her,  and  her  skipper  Wesley 
Marrs,  too,  as  he  stood  to  the  wheel  and  sung  out, 
"Couldn't  scare  you,  could  I,  Maurice.  I  thought 
you'd  haul  your  seine-boat  in.  I've  got  your  extra 
seine,"  and  swept  by. 

From  our  deck  and  from  the  deck  of  the  Adams, 
and  from  the  decks  of  half  a  dozen  others,  could 
be  heard  murmurs,  and  there  was  a  general  point 
ing  out  of  the  redoubtable  skipper  himself  to  the 
green  hands  that  knew  him  only  by  reputation. 
"That's  him,  Wesley  himself — the  stocky  little 
man  of  the  two  at  the  wheel." 

If  the  stocky  little  man  heard  the  hails  that 
were  sent  after  him,  he  made  no  sign,  unless  a 
faint  dipping  of  his  sou'wester  back  over  his  wind 
ward  shoulder  was  his  way  of  showing  it. 

He  had  business  yet,  had  Wesley  Marrs.  There 
was  a  tug  and  a  barge  and  another  big  seiner  in 

"7 


The  Seiners 

his  course.  He  clipped  the  tug,  scraped  the  barge, 
and  set  the  seiner's  boat  a-dancing,  and  two  lengths 
more  he  put  down  the  wheel  and  threw  her  grace 
fully  into  the  wind.  Down  came  jib,  down  came 
jumbo,  over  splashed  the  anchor.  She  ran  for 
ward  a  little,  rattled  back  a  link  or  two,  steadied 
herself,  and  there  she  was.  Her  big  mainsail  was 
yet  shaking  in  the  wind,  her  gaff-topsail  yet  flut 
tering  aloft,  but  she  herself,  the  Lucy  Foster  of 
Gloucester,  was  at  your  service.  "And  what  do 
you  think  of  her,  people?"  might  just  as  well  have 
been  shot  off  her  deck  through  a  megaphone,  for 
that  was  what  her  bearing  and  the  unnatural 
smartness  of  her  crew  plainly  were  saying. 

We  all  drew  breath  again.  Clancy  unbent  from 
the  rail  and  shook  his  head  in  high  approval.  He 
took  off  his  sou'wester,  slatted  it  over  the  after-bitt 
to  clear  the  brim  of  water,  and  spoke  his  mind. 
"You'll  see  nothing  cleaner  than  that  in  this  har 
bor  to-day,  fellows,  and  you'll  see  some  pretty  fair 
work  at  that.  That  fellow — he's  an  able  seaman." 

"Yes,  sir — an  able  seaman,"  said  the  skipper 
also. 

And  Clancy  and  the  skipper  were  something  in 
the  line  of  able  seamen  themselves. 


:u& 


XIII 

WESLEY   MARKS   BRINGS   A   MESSAGE 

GENERALLY  a  day  in  harbor  is  a  day  of 
loafing  for  the  crew  of  a  seiner;  but  it  was 
not  so  altogether  with  us  that  day.  Within  two 
hours  of  the  time  that  Wesley  Marrs  came  in  to 
the  Breakwater  in  such  slashing  style  the  skipper 
had  us  into  the  seine-boat  and  on  the  way  to  the 
Lucy  Foster.  By  his  orders  we  took  along  ten 
empty  mackerel  barrels.  "We'll  go  over  to  the 
beach  first  and  fill  these  barrels  up  with  sand." 
We  all  knew  what  the  sand  was  for — the  Johnnie 
Duncan  was  going  to  be  put  in  trim  to  do  her  best 
sailing.  Coming  down  the  coast  the  skipper  and 
Clancy  decided  that  she  was  down  by  the  stern 
a  trifle. 

So  we  attended  to  the  sand,  and  on  the  way  back 
hauled  our  second  seine  out  of  the  hold  of  the  Lucy 
Foster,  and  piled  it  into  the  seine-boat.  With  the 
last  of  the  twine  into  the  seine-boat  and  just  as  we 
were  about  to  push  off  from  the  Lucy,  Wesley 
Marrs  put  a  foot  on  the  rail  of  his  vessel  and 
spoke  to  Maurice. 

"And  when  I  was  taking  the  last  of  that  aboard 
UIQ 


The  Seiners 

in  the  dock  in  Gloucester,  you  wouldn't  believe 
who  it  was  stepped  onto  the  cap-log  and  looking 
down  on  the  deck  of  the  Lucy  says,  'And  you'll 
take  good  care  of  that  seine  for  Captain  Blake, 
won't  you,  Captain  Marrs?'  Could  you  guess 
now,  Maurice?" 

"No,"  said  Maurice. 

"No,  I'll  bet  you  can't.  It  isn't  often  she  comes 
down  the  dock.  Miss  Foster  no  less.  'And  what 
makes  you  think  I  won't?'  I  asks  her.  'Oh,  of 
course  I  know  you  will,'  she  says,  'and  deliver  it 
to  him  in  good  order,  too.'  'I'll  try,'  I  says,  as 
though  it  was  a  desp'rate  job  I  had  on  hand — to 
put  a  seine  in  the  hold  and  turn  it  over  to  another 
vessel  when  I  met  her.  'But  what  makes  you  worry 
about  this  partic'lar  seine,  Miss  Foster?'  I  asks." 

"Which  Miss  Foster  was  it,  Wesley — the  one 
your  vessel  is  named  after?"  broke  in  our  skipper. 

"No — no — but  the  younger  one — Alice.  'But 
what  makes  you  worry?'  I  asks  her,  and  she  didn't 
say  anything,  but  that  one  that's  with  her  all  the 
time — the  one  that  goes  with  the  lad  that  designed 
the  Johnnie  Duncan " 

"Joe's  cousin  here " 

"That's  it — the  fat  little  Buckley  girl — a  fine 
girl  too.  And  if  I  was  a  younger  man  and  looking 
for  a  wife,  there's  the  kind  for  me — but  anyway 
she  up  and  says,  'Alice  is  worried,  Captain  Marrs, 

120 


Wesley  Marrs  Brings  a  Message 

because  she  owns  a  third  of  Captain  Blake's  vessel 
— a  good  part  of  her  little  fortune's  in  the  Duncan 
— and  if  anything  happens  to  the  seine  one-third 
of  it,  of  course,  comes  out  of  her.  And  it  cost  a 
good  many  hundred  dollars.  So  you  must  be  care 
ful.'  'Oh,  that's  it?'  says  I.  Then  it'll  be  short 
ened  sail  and  extra  careful  watches  on  the  Lucy 
till  I  meet  Maurice,  for  I  mustn't  lose  any  property 
of  Miss  Foster's.'  " 

We  rowed  away  from  the  Lucy  Foster,  and  I 
supposed  that  was  the  end  of  it.  But  that  night 
going  on  deck  to  take  a  last  look  at  the  stars  before 
turning  in,  there  was  the  skipper  and  Clancy  walk 
ing  the  break  and  talking. 

"And  did  you  know,  Tommie,  that  Miss  Fos 
ter  owned  any  of  this  one?"  the  skipper  was  saying. 

"No,"  said  Tommie,  "I  didn't  know,  but " 

"But  you  suspected.  Well,  I  didn't  even  suspect. 
And  there's  that  seine  we  lost  last  night — cost  all 
of  eight  hundred  dollars." 

"That's  what  it  did — a  fine  seine." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  skipper  went  below, 
and  Clancy,  seeing  me,  said,  "Hold  on,  Joey.  Did 
you  hear  what  the  skipper  said?" 

"About  Miss  Foster  owning  a  share  of  the 
vessel?" 

"Well,  not  that  so  much,  but  about  the  loss  of 
the  seine?" 

121 


The  Seiners 

"Yes— why?" 

"Why?  Joe,  but  sometimes  a  man  would  think 
you  were  about  ten  year  old.  I  tell  you,  Joe,  I'm 
not  too  sure  it's  going  to  be  Withrow.  And  if  you 
don't  see  some  driving  on  this  one  when  next  we 
get  among  the  fish,  then — "  But  he  didn't  finish 
it,  only  clucked  his  tongue  and  went  below. 

Clancy  was  right  again.  During  the  night  the 
weather  moderated,  and  in  the  morning  the  first 
of  the  fleet  to  go  out  past  the  Breakwater  was  the 
Johnnie  Duncan.  It  looked  to  us  as  if  the  skipper 
thought  the  mackerel  would  be  all  gone  out  of  the 
sea  before  we  got  back  to  the  spot  where  we  had 
struck  them  two  days  before. 


122 


XIV 

A   PROSPECT  OF   NIGHT-SEINING 

WE  might  have  stayed  in  harbor  another 
twenty-four  hours  and  lost  nothing  by  it. 
It  was  dawn  when  we  put  out  from  the  Delaware 
Breakwater,  and  by  dark  of  the  same  day  we  were 
back  to  where  we  had  met  the  big  school  and  lost 
the  seine  two  days  before.  And  there  we  hung 
about  for  another  night  and  day  waiting  for  the  sea 
to  flatten  out.  Mackerel  rarely  show  in  rough 
weather,  even  if  you  could  put  out  a  seine-boat  and 
go  after  them.  But  I  suppose  that  it  did  us  no 
harm  to  be  on  the  ground  and  ready. 

On  the  evening  of  the  next  day  there  was  some 
thing  doing.  There  was  still  some  sea  on,  but  not 
enough  to  hurt.  Along  about  eight  o'clock,  I  re 
member,  I  came  off  watch  and  dropped  into  the 
forec's'le  to  fix  up  my  arm,  which  was  still  badly 
strained  from  hanging  onto  the  seine-boat's  painter 
when  I  was  washed  overboard.  The  skipper,  tak 
ing  a  look,  told  me  not  to  go  into  the  dory  that 
night,  but  to  let  Billie  Hurd,  who  was  spare  hand,, 
take  my  place,  and  for  me  to  stay  aboard.  I  would 

123 


The  Seiners 

rather  have  gone  into  the  dory,  of  course,  but  was 
not  able  to  pull  an  oar — that  is,  pull  it  as  I'd  have 
to  pull  when  driving  for  a  school — and  knowing  I 
would  be  no  more  than  so  much  freight  in  the 
dory  there  was  nothing  else  to  do.  "And  if  we  see 
fish,  Clancy'll  stay  to  the  mast-head  to-night — as 
good  a  seine-master  as  sails  out  of  Gloucester  is 
Tommie — better  than  me,"  he  said.  "I'm  going 
in  the  seine-boat,  and  Eddie  Parsons,  you'll  take 
Clancy's  place  in  the  dory."  And  buttoning  his 
oil-jacket  up  tight,  he  put  on  his  mitts  and  went 
on  deck. 

That  evening  the  forward  gang  were  doing 
about  as  much  work  as  seiners  at  leisure  usually  do. 
It  was  in  the  air  that  we  would  strike  fish,  but  the 
men  had  not  yet  been  told  to  get  ready.  So  four  of 
them  were  playing  whist  at  the  table  under  the 
lamp  and  two  were  lying  half  in  and  half  out  of 
opposite  upper  bunks,  trying  to  get  more  of  the 
light  on  the  pages  of  the  books  they  were  read 
ing.  Long  Steve,  in  a  lower  port  bunk  nearer  the 
gangway,  was  humming  something  sentimental, 
and  two  were  in  a  knot  on  the  lockers,  arguing 
fiercely  over  nothing  in  particular.  There  was  a 
fellow  in  the  peak  roaring  out,  "Scots  wha  hae  wi' 
Wallace  bled."  Only  the  cook,  just  done  with 
mixing  bread,  seemed  to  have  ever  done  a  lick  of 
work  in  his  life,  and  he  was  now  standing  by  the 

124 


A  Prospect  of  Night-Seining 

galley  fire  rolling  the  dough  off  his  fingers.  The 
cook  on  a  fisherman  is  always  a  busy  man. 

Down  the  companion-way  and  into  the  thick  of 
this  dropped  Clancy,  oiled  up  and  all  ready  to  go 
aloft.  To  the  mast-head  of  a  vessel,  even  on  an 
April  night  in  southern  waters,  it  is  cold  enough, 
especially  when,  like  a  seiner,  she  is  nearly  always 
by  the  wind;  and  Clancy  was  wrapped  up.  "I 
think,"  said  Clancy,  as  his  boot-heels  hit  the  floor, 
"I'll  have  a  mug-up. "  From  the  boiler  on  the  gal 
ley-stove  he  poured  out  a  mug  of  coffee  and  from 
the  grub-locker  he  took  a  slice  of  bread  and  two 
thick  slices  of  cold  beef.  He  buried  the  bread 
among  the  beef  and  leaned  against  the  foremast 
while  he  ate. 

Once  when  Clancy  was  a  skipper  he  did  a  fine 
bit  of  rescuing  out  to  sea,  and  after  he  got  home  a 
newspaper  man  saw  him  and  wrote  him  up.  I  had 
the  clipping  stuck  on  the  wall  of  Withrow's  store 
for  months  and  had  read  it  so  often  that  I  knew  it 
by  heart.  uln  heavy  jack-boots  and  summer  sou' 
wester,  with  a  black  jersey  of  fine  quality  sticking 
up  above  the  neck  of  his  oil-jacket,  with  a  face  that 
won  you  at  sight;  cheeks  a  nice  even  pink;  damp, 
storm-beaten,  and  healthful ;  with  mouth,  eyes,  and 
jaw  bespeaking  humor,  sympathy,  and  courage; 
.shoulders  that  seemed  made  for  butting  to  wind 
ward — an  attractive,  inspiring,  magnetic  man  al- 


The  Seiners 

together — that  is  Captain  Tommie  Clancy  of  the 
Gloucester  fisherman,  the  Mary  Andrews."  That 
was  how  it  read,  and  certainly  it  fitted  him  now,  as 
he  stood  there  in  the  middle  of  the  thick  curling 
smoke  of  the  pipes,  holding  the  mug  of  coffee  in 
one  hand  and  the  sandwich  of  bread  and  meat  in 
the  other,  leaning  easily  against  the  butt  of  the 
foremast,  and  between  gulps  and  bites  taking  no 
tice  of  the  crew. 

uGive  me,"  he  said  to  the  cook  as  the  proper 
man  for  an  audience,  "a  seiner's  crew  when  they're 
not  on  fish  for  real  gentlemen  of  leisure.  Look  at 
'em  now — you'd  think  they  were  all  near-sighted, 
with  their  cards  up  to  their  chins.  And  above  them 
look — Kipling  to  starb'd  and  the  Duchess  to  port. 
Mulvaney,  I'll  bet,  filled  full  of  whiskey  and  keep 
ing  the  heathen  on  the  jump,  and  Airy  Fairy  Lil 
lian,  or  some  other  daisy  with  winning  ways,  dis 
turbing  the  peace  of  mind  of  half  a  dozen  dukes. 
Mulvaney's  all  right,  but  the  Duchess!  They'll 
be  taking  books  of  that  kind  to  the  mast-head  next. 
What  d'y'  s'pose  I  found  aft  the  other  day?  Now 
what  d'y'  s'pose?  I'll  bet  you'd  never  guess.  No, 
no.  Well,  'He  Loved,  but  Was  Lured  Away.' 
Yes.  Isn't  that  fine  stuff  for  a  fisherman  to  be 
feeding  on?  But  whoever  was  reading  it,  he  was 
ashamed  of  it.  'Well,  who  owns  this  thing?'  says 
I,  picking  up  the  lured-away  lad.  'Nobody,'  speaks 

126 


A  Prospect  of  Night-Seining 

up  Sam  there.    Of  course  he  didn't  own  it —    O 
no! 

"Violet  Vance,"  went  on  Clancy,  and  took  an 
other  bite  of  his  sandwich.  "Violet  Vance  and 
Wilful  Winnie  and  a  whole  holdful  of  airy  crea 
tures  couldn't  help  a  fisherman  when  there's  any 
thing  stirring.  I  waded  through  a  whole  bunch  of 
'em  once," — he  reached  over  and  took  a  wedge 
of  pie  from  the  grub-locker.  uYes,  I  went  through 
a  whole  bunch  of  'em  once — pretty  good  pie  this, 
cook,  though  gen'rally  those  artificial  apples  that 
swings  on  strings  ain't  in  it  with  the  natural  tree 
apples  for  pie — once  when  we  were  laying  some 
where  to  the  east'ard  of  Sable  Island,  in  a  blow 
and  a  thick  fog — fresh  halibuting — and  right  in 
the  way  of  the  liners.  And  I  expect  I  was  going 
around  like  a  man  asleep,  because  the  skipper 
comes  up  and  begins  to  talk  to  me.  It  was  my 
first  trip  with  him  and  I  was  a  young  lad.  'Young 
fellow,'  says  the  skipper,  Matt  Dawson — this  was 
in  the  Lorelei — 'young  fellow,'  says  Matt,  'you 
look  tired.  Let  me  call  up  the  crew  and  swing  a 
hammock  for  you  from  the  fore-rigging  to  the 
jumbo  boom.  How'll  that  do  for  you?  When  the 
jumbo  slats  it'll  keep  the  hammock  rocking.  Let 
me,'  he  says.  T'raps,'  he  goes  on,  'you  wouldn't 
mind  waking  up  long  enough  to  give  this  music 
box  a  turn  or  two  every  now  and  then  while  the 

127 


The  Seiners 

fog  lasts.'  We  had  a  patent  fog-horn  aboard,  the 
first  I  ever  saw,  and  I'd  clear  forgot  it — warn't 
used  to  patent  horns.  But  just  another  little 
wedge  of  pie,  George. 

"However,  I  suppose  when  there's  nothing  do 
ing  there's  no  very  great  harm.  But  we'll  try  to 
keep  some  of  you  busy  to-night.  Praise  the  Lord, 
the  moon's  out  of  the  way  and  it's  looking  black 
already  and  the  sea  ought  to  fire  up  fine  later  on. 
And  there's  a  nice  little  breeze  to  overhaul  a  good 
school  when  we  see  one.  If  any  of  you  are  begin 
ning  to  think  of  getting  in  a  wink  of  sleep  then 
you'd  better  turn  in  now,  for  you're  sure  to  be  out 
before  long.  I'm  going  aloft." 

Clancy  climbed  up  the  companion-way.  Then 
followed  the  scraping  of  his  boot-heels  across  the 
deck.  Half  a  minute  later,  had  anybody  cared  to 
go  up  and  have  a  look,  I  suppose  he  would  have 
been  discovered  astraddle  of  the  highest  block 
above  the  forethroat— he  and  the  skipper — watch 
ing  out  sharply  for  the  lights  of  the  many  other 
vessels  about  them,  but  more  particularly  straining 
their  eyes  for  the  phosphorescent  trails  of  mack 
erel. 


12$ 


XV 

CLANCY   TO   THE   MAST-HEAD 

THE  men  below  knew  their  skipper  an<J 
Clancy  too  well  to  imagine  that  they  were 
to  be  too  long  left  in  peace.  And  then,  too,  the 
next  man  off  watch  reported  a  proper  night  for 
mackerel.  "Not  a  blessed  star  out — and  black! 
It's  like  digging  a  hole  in  the  ground  and  looking 
into  it.  And  the  skipper's  getting  nervous,  I  know. 
I  could  hear  him  stirrin'  'round  up  there  when  I 
was  for'ard  just  now,  and  he  hollered  to  the  wheel 
that  up  to  the  no'the'ard  it  looked  like  planty  of 
fish.  'And  I  callate  we  ain't  the  only  vessel  got 
eyes  for  it,'  he  said." 

"Yes,"  said  his  watch-mate,  who  had  just 
dropped  down,  "it's  nothing  but  side-lights  all 
'round  and " 

Just  then  came  the  skipper's  voice  from  aloft. 
"Tell  the  boys  they  might's  well  oil  up  and  be 
ready."  The  watch  did  not  have  to  repeat  it — 
we  all  heard  it  below,  and  fore  and  aft,  in  cabin 
and  forec's'le,  the  gang  made  ready.  Cards,  nov 
els,  and  all  the  hot  arguments  went  by  the  board, 

129 


The  Seiners 

and  then  after  a  mug-up  for  nearly  all  we  slid  into 
oil-clothes,  boots  and  souVesters,  and  puffing  at 
what  was  probably  to  be  the  last  pipeful  of  the 
evening,  we  lay  around  on  lockers  and  on  the  floor, 
backs  to  the  butt  of  the  mast  and  backs  to  the 
stove — wherever  there  was  space  for  a  broad  back 
and  a  pair  of  stout  legs  our  fellows  dropped 
themselves,  discussing  all  the  while  the  things  that 
interested  them — fish,  fishing,  fast  vessels,  big 
shares,  politics,  Bob  Fitzsimmons,  John  L.  Sulli 
van,  good  stories,  and  just  then  particularly,  be 
cause  two  of  the  crew  were  thinking  of  marrying, 
the  awful  price  of  real  estate  in  Gloucester. 

By  and  by,  ringing  as  clear  as  if  he  himself 
stood  at  the  companion-way,  came  the  skipper's 
voice  from  the  mast-head:  uOn  deck  everybody!'* 
No  more  discussion,  no  more  loafing — pipes  were 
smothered  into  bosoms,  and  up  the  companion-way 
crowded  oil-skins  and  jack-boots. 

Then  came:  "It  looks  like  fish  ahead  of  us. 
Haul  the  boat  alongside  and  drop  the  dory  over." 

We  jumped.  Four  laid  hands  on  the  dory  in 
the  waist  and  ten  or  a  dozen  heaved  away  on  the 
stiff  painter  of  the  seine-boat  that  was  towing 
astern.  Into  the  air  and  over  the  starboard  rail 
went  the  dory,  while  ploughing  up  to  the  vessel's 
boom  at  the  port  fore-rigging  came  the  bow  of  the 
seine-boat. 

130 


Clancy  to  the  Mast-Head 

Then  followed:  uPut  the  tops'ls  to  her — sharp 


now." 


The  halyards  could  be  heard  whirring  up  to 
ward  the  sky,  while  two  bunches  of  us  sagged  and 
lifted  on  the  deck  below.  Among  us  it  was,  uNow 
then — o-ho — sway  away — good,"  until  topsails 
were  flat  as  boards,  and  the  schooner,  hauled  up, 
had  heeled  to  her  scuppers. 

"Slap  the  stays'l  to  her  and  up  with  the  balloon. 
Half  the  fleet's  driving  to  the  no'the'ard.  Lively." 

The  Johnnie  liked  that  rarely.  With  the  seven 
ty-five  foot  main-boom  sheeted  in  to  her  rail,  with 
the  thirty-seven-foot  spike  bowsprit  poking  a  lane 
in  the  sea  when  she  dove  and  a  path  among  the 
clouds  when  she  lifted,  with  her  midship  rail  all  but 
flush  with  the  sea  and  the  night  breeze  to  sing  to 
her — of  course  she  liked  it,  and  she  showed  her 
liking.  She'd  tear  herself  apart  now  before  she'd 
let  anything  in  the  fleet  go  by  her.  And  red  and 
green  lights  were  racing  to  both  quarters  of  her. 

"Into  the  boat!"  It  was  the  skipper's  voice 
again,  and  fifteen  men  leaped  over  the  rail  at  the 
word.  Two  dropped  into  the  dory  and  thirteen 
jumped  from  the  vessel's  rail  onto  thwarts  or  net 
ting  or  into  the  bottom  of  the  seine-boat — any 
where  at  all  so  that  they  get  in  quickly.  As  extra 
hand  on  deck  I  had  to  stand  by  and  pay  out  the 
painter. 


The  Seiners 

In  tHe  middle  of  it  came  the  skipper  sliding 
down  from  the  mast-head.  "Drop  astern,  boat  and 
dory,"  he  called  out,  and  himself  leaped  over  the 
quarter  and  onto  the  pile  of  netting  as  into  the 
Johnnie's  boiling  wake  they  went.  The  thirty- 
eight-foot  seine-boat  was  checked  up  a  dozen 
fathoms  astern,  and  the  dory  just  astern  of  that. 
The  two  men  in  the  dory  had  to  fend  off  despe 
rately  as  they  slid  by  the  seine-boat. 

On  the  deck  of  the  Johnnie  were  the  cook,  who 
had  the  wheel,  and  myself,  who  had  to  stand  by 
the  sheets.  There  would  be  stirring  times  soon, 
for  even  from  the  deck  occasional  flashes  of  light, 
marking  small  pods  of  mackerel,  could  be  made 
out  on  the  surface  of  the  sea.  Clancy,  now  at  the 
mast-head  alone,  was  noting  these  signs,  we  felt 
sure,  and  with  them  a  whole  lot  of  other  things. 
To  the  mast-heads  of  other  vessels  out  in  the  night 
were  other  skippers,  or  seine-masters,  and  all  with 
skill  and  nerve  and  a  great  will  to  get  fish. 

The  Johnnie  was  making  perhaps  ten  knots  good 
now,  and  with  every  jerk  the  painter  of  the  seine- 
boat  chafed  and  groaned  in  the  taffrail  chock. 
The  skipper  from  the  boat  called  for  more  line. 
"Slack  away  a  bit,  slack  away.  We're  not 
porpoises." 

I  jumped  to  attend  to  the  painter  just  as  Clancy's 
voice  broke  in  from  above :  "Swing  her  off  about 

132 


Clancy  to  the  Mast-Head 

two  points,  ease  your  main  sheet  and  keep  an  eye 
on  that  light  to  looard.  Off,  off — that's  good — 
hold  her — and  Joe,  slack  stays'l  and  then  foretops'l 
halyards.  Be  ready  to  let  go  balloon  halyards  and 
stand  by  down-haul.  Look  alive." 

I  paid  out  some  sheet  from  the  bitt  by  the  wheel- 
box,  unbuttoned  the  after  stays'l  tack,  jumped  for 
ward  and  loosed  up  halyards  till  her  kites  dropped 
limp. 

"Down  with  your  balloon  there — and  at  the 
wheel  there,  jibe  her  over.  Watch  out  for  that 
fellow  astern — he's  pretty  handy  to  our  boat. 
Watch  out  in  boat  and  dory!"  The  last  warning 
was  a  roar. 

The  big  balloon  gossamer  came  rattling  down 
the  long  stay  and  the  jaws  of  the  booms  ratched, 
fore  and  main,  as  they  swung  over.  From  astern 
came  the  voices  of  the  men  in  boat  and  dory,  warn 
ing  each  other  to  hang  on  when  they  felt  her  jib 
ing.  Some  of  them  must  have  come  near  to  being 
jerked  overboard.  "Why  in  God's  name  don't  you 
slack  that  painter?"  came  the  voice  of  the  skipper 
from  the  boat. 

I  leaped  to  give  them  more  painter,  and  "Draw 
away  your  jib — draw  away  your  jumbo,"  came 
from  aloft.  Sheets  were  barely  fast  when  it  was : 
"Steady  at  the  wheel,  George  —  steady  her  — 
ste-a-dy —  Great  God !  man,  if  you  can't  see  can't 

133 


The  Seiners 

you  feel  that  fellow  just  ahead?  And,  skipper,  tell 
them  to  close  their  jaws  astern  there — water  won't 
hurt  'em.  Ready  all  now?" 

"Ready!"  roared  back  the  skipper. 

"All  right.  Down  with  your  wheel  a  bit  now, 
George.  Down — more  yet.  Hold  her  there." 

The  vessels  that  we  had  dodged  by  this  bit  of 
luffing  were  now  dropping  by  us ;  one  red  light  was 
slowly  sliding  past  our  quarter  to  port,  and  one 
green  shooting  by  our  bow  to  starboard.  Evident 
ly  Clancy  had  only  been  waiting  to  steer  clear  of 
these  two  neighbors,  for  there  was  plenty  of  fish  in 
sight  now.  The  sea  was  flashing  with  trails  of 
them.  Clancy  now  began  to  bite  out  commands. 

"Stand  ready  everybody.  In  the  boat  and  dory 
there — is  everything  ready,  skipper?" 

"All  ready,  boat  and  dory." 

Out  came  Clancy's  orders  then — rapid  fire — 
and  as  he  ripped  them  out,  no  whistling  wind 
could  smother  his  voice,  no  swash  of  the  sea  could 
drown  it.  In  boat,  dory  and  on  deck,  every  brain 
glowed  to  understand  and  every  heart  pumped  to 
obey. 

"Up  with  your  wheel,  George,  and  let  her  swing 
by.  ,  Stea-dy.  Ready  in  the  boat.  Steady  your 
wheel.  Are  you  ready  in  the  boat  ?  Let  her  swing 
off  a  little  more,  George.  Steady — hold  her  there. 
Stand  by  in  the  boat.  Now  then — now !  Cast  off 

134 


Clancy  to  the  Mast-Head 

your  painter,  cast  off  and  pull  to  the  westward. 
And  drive  her !  Up  with  the  wheel.  More  yet — 
that's  good.  Drive  her,  I  say,  skipper.  Where's 
that  dory? — I  don't  see  the  dory.  The  dory,  the 
dory — where  in  hell's  the  dory? — show  that  lan 
tern  in  the  dory.  All  right,  the  dory.  Hold  her 
up,  George.  Don't  let  her  swing  off  another  inch 
now.  Drive  her,  boys,  drive  her !  Look  out  now  1 
Stand  by  the  seine !  Stand  by — the  twine — do  you 
hear,  Steve!  The  twine!  Drive  her — drive  her 
— blessed  Lord !  drive  her.  That's  the  stuff,  skip 
per,  drive  her!  Let  her  come  up,  George.  Down 
with  your  wheel — down  with  you  wheel — ste-a-dy. 
Drive  her,  skipper,  drive  her!  Turn  in  now — in 
— shorter  yet.  Drive  her  now — where's  that 
dory ! — hold  her  up ! — not  you,  George !  you're  all 
right — ste-a-dy.  Hold  that  dory  up  to  the  wind! 
— that's  it,  boys — you're  all  right — straight  ahead 
now!  That's  the  stuff.  Turn  her  in  now  again, 
skipper.  In  the  dory  there — show  your  lantern  in 
the  dory  and  be  ready  for  the  seine-boat.  Good 
enough.  Now  cover  your  lantern  in  the  dory  and 
haul  away  when  you're  ready." 

To  have  experienced  the  strain  and  drive  of  that 
rush,  to  have  held  an  oar  in  the  boat  during  that 
and  to  have  shared  with  the  men  in  the  confidence 
they  gathered — ours  was  a  skipper  to  steer  a  boat 
around  a  school — and  the  soul  that  rang  in  Clan- 

135 


The  Seiners 

cy's  voice ! — why,  just  to  stand  on  deck,  as  I  did, 
and  listen  to  it — it  was  like  living. 

During  this  dash  we  could  make  out  neither  boat 
nor  dory  from  deck,  but  the  flashes  of  light  raised 
by  the  oars  at  every  stroke  were  plainly  to  be  seen 
in  that  phosphorescent  sea.  Certainly  they  were 
making  that  boat  hop  along!  Ten  good  men, 
with  every  man  a  long,  broad  blade,  and  double 
banked,  so  that  every  man  might  encourage  his 
mate  and  be  himself  spurred  on  by  desperate  effort. 
Legs,  arms,  shoulders,  back,  all  went  into  it  and 
their  wake  alive  with  smoke  and  fire  to  tell  them 
they  were  moving !  To  be  in  that  ? —  The  middle 
of  a  black  night  on  the  Atlantic  was  this,  and  the 
big  seine-heaver  was  throwing  the  seine  in  great 
armfuls.  And  Hurd  and  Parsons  in  the  little  dory 
tossing  behind  and  gamely  trying  to  keep  up! 
They  were  glad  enough  to  be  in  the  dory,  I  know, 
to  get  hold  of  the  buoy,  and  you  can  be  sure  there 
was  some  lively  action  aboard  of  her  when  Clancy 
called  so  fiercely  to  them  to  hold  the  buoy  up  to 
the  wind,  so  that  the  efforts  of  the  crew  of  the 
seine-boat,  racing  to  get  their  two  hundred  odd 
fathoms  of  twine  fence  around  the  flying  school, 
might  not  go  for  naught. 


136 


XVI 

WE  GET  A  FINE  SCHOOL 

WITH  his  "Haul  away  now  when  you're 
ready,"  Clancy  came  down  from  aloft. 
He  was  sliding  down  evidently  by  way  of  the  jib 
halyards,  for  there  was  the  sound  of  a  chafing 
whiz  that  could  be  nothing  else  than  the  friction 
of  oilskins  against  taut  manila  rope,  a  sudden 
check,  as  of  a  block  met  on  the  way,  an  impatient, 
soft,  little  forgivable  oath,  and  then  a  plump! 
that  meant  that  he  must  have  dropped  the  last 
twelve  or  fifteen  feet  to  the  deck.  Immediately 
came  the  scurry  of  his  boot-heels  as  he  hurried  aft. 
In  another  moment  he  stood  in  the  glow  of  the 
binnacle  light,  and  reaching  back  toward  the 
shadow  of  the  cook,  but  never  turning  his  head 
from  that  spot  out  in  the  dark  where  he  had  last 
seen  the  boat,  he  took  the  wheel. 

"All  right,  George,  I've  got  you.  A  good-sized 
school,  by  the  looks,  if  they  got  them,  and  I  think 
they  have.  Did  you  see  that  boat  ahead  we  near 
ran  into? — the  last  time  we  put  the  wheel  down? 
Man,  but  for  a  second  I  thought  they  were  gone. 

137 


The  Seiners 

I  hope  no  blessed  vessel  comes  as  near  to  our  fel 
lows.  And  they  were  so  busy  rowing  and  heav 
ing  twine  they  never  saw  us,  and  myself  nearly 
cross-eyed  trying  to  watch  them  and  our  own  boat 
and  the  fish  all  the  time.  Go  below,  George,  she's 
all  right  now,  and  tell  Joe — where  is  he  ? — to  go 
below,  too,  and  have  a  mug-up  for  himself.  He 
must  be  soaked  through  taking  the  swash  that 
mustVe  come  over  her  bow  for  the  last  hour.  But 
tell  him  to  come  right  up  so's  to  keep  watch  out 
ahead." 

I  didn't  go  below,  however,  but  standing  by  the 
fore-rigging  kept  an  eye  out  ahead.  Clancy  him 
self  stood  to  the  wheel  with  his  head  ever  turned 
over  one  shoulder,  until  he  saw  the  flare  of  a  torch 
from  the  seine-boat.  "Good!"  he  exclaimed. 
"What  there  is  is  safe  now,  anyway." 

After  that  his  work  was  easy.  He  had  only  to 
dodge  the  lights  of  other  vessels  now,  the  old  red 
and  green  lights  that  had  been  our  neighbors  all 
that  evening,  and  a  few  new  yellow  flares  that  came 
from  other  seine-boats.  So  his  eyes  ranged  the 
blackness  and  in  rings  about  his  own  seine-boat  he 
sailed  the  Johnnie  Duncan.  That  the  crew  were 
quite  a  little  while  pursing  up  only  gave  him  sat 
isfaction.  "A  nice  school,  Joe,  if  they  got  it  all," 
he  said,  "a  nice  school  of  'em."  And  after  a  pause, 
"I  think  I'll  stand  down  and  have  a  look." 

138 


We  Get  a  Fine   School 

He  ran  down,  luffed,  and  hailed,  "Hi — skipper, 
what's  it  like  ?" 

From  the  row  of  figures  that  were  seen  to  be 
crowding  gunnel  and  thwarts  and  hauling  on  the 
seine,  one  shadow  straightened  up  beside  the  smoky 
torch  and  spoke.  "Can't  be  sure  yet,  Tommie,  but 
things  look  all  right  so  far.  A  fair-sized  school  if 
we  don't  lose  'em." 

"Lord,  don't  lose  'em,  skipper,  though  I  think 
you've  got  'em  fast  enough  now.  Sounds  natural 
to  hear  'em  flipping  inside  the  corks,  don't  it? 
Ought  to  be  hurrying  'em  up,  skipper — it's  getting 
along  in  the  night." 

Clancy,  very  well  satisfied,  stood  away  again  and 
continued  to  sail  triangles  around  boat  and  dory. 
Being  now  clear  of  the  greater  part  of  the  mental 
strain  his  spirits  began  to  lighten.  Merely  by  way 
of  being  sociable  with  himself  he  hummed  some 
old  ditties.  There  was  that  about  the  old  coaster, 
the  Eliza  Jane.  I  liked  to  hear  him  sing  that,  as, 
dancing  a  one-footed  jig-step  by  the  wheel-box,  he 
bumped  it  out : 

"  Oh,  the  'Liza  Jane  with  a  blue  foremast 
And  a  load  of  hay  came  drifting  past. 
Her  skipper  stood  aft  and  he  said,  '  How  do  ? 
We're  the  'Liza  Jane  and  who  be  you  ? ' 

He  stood  by  the  wheel  and  he  says,  '  How  do  ? 
We're  from  Bangor,  Maine — from  where  be  you?  * 

139. 


The  Seiners 

«'  The  'Liza  Jane  got  a  new  main  truck — 
A  darn  fine  thing  but  wouldn't  stay  stuck. 
Came  a  breeze  one  day  from  the  no'-noj-west 
And  the  gosh-darned  thing  came  down  with  the  rest. 

Oh,  hi-diddle-di — a  breeze  from  the  west — 

Who'd  'a*  thunk  the  truck  wouldn't  stuck  with  the  rest? 

"  Oh,  the  'Liza  Jane  left  the  wharf  one  day, 
A  fine  flood  tide  and  the  day  Friday, 
But  the  darned  old  tide  sent  her  bow  askew 
And  the  'Liza  Jane  began  for  to  slew. 

Oh,  hi-diddle-di — she'd  'a'  fairly  flew, 
If  she  only  could  sail  the  other  end  to. 

(t  Oh,  the  'Liza  Jane  left  port  one  day, 

With  her  hold  full  of  squash  and  her  deck  all  hay. 
Two  years  back  with  her  sails  all  set 
She  put  from  Bath — she's  sailing  yet. 

Oh,  hi-diddle-di  for  a  good  old  craft 

She'd  've  sailed  very  well  with  her  bow  on  aft." 

There  was  a  long  story  to  the  Eliza  Jane,  but 
Clancy  did  not  finish  it.  Maybe  he  felt  that  it  was 
not  in  harmony  with  that  lowering  sky  or  that 
flashing  sea.  Maybe,  too,  in  the  waters  that  rolled 
and  the  wake  that  smoked  was  the  inspiration  for 
something  more  stirring.  At  any  rate  he  began,  in 
a  voice  that  carried  far,  an  old  ballad  of  the  war 
of  1812. 

Two  or  three  more  stanzas  to  warm  up,  and 
the  fight  was  on.  And  you  would  think  Clancy 

140 


We  Get  a  Fine  School 

was  in  it.  He  laid  every  mast  and  yard  of  the 
enemy  over  the  side  of  her,  he  made  her  decks  run 
with  blood,  and  at  the  last,  in  a  noble  effort,  he 
caused  her  to  strike  her  flag. 

By  the  time  he  had  finished  that,  it  happened 
that  we  were  running  before  the  wind,  and,  going 
so,  it  was  very  quiet  aboard  the  vessel.  There  was 
none  of  the  close-hauled  wash  through  her  scup 
pers,  nor  was  there  much  play  of  wind  through 
stays  and  halyards.  It  was  in  fact  unusually  quiet, 
and  it  needed  only  that  to  set  Clancy  off  on  a  more 
melancholy  tack.  So  in  a  subdued  voice  he  began 
the  recitation  of  one  of  the  incidents  that  have 
helped  to  make  orphans  of  Gloucester  children: 

"  Twelve  good  vessels  fighting  through  the  night . 
Fighting,  fighting,  that  no'the-east  gale  ; 
Every  man,  be  sure,  did  his  might, 
But  never  a  sign  of  a  single  sail 
Was  there  in  the  morning  when  the  sun  shone  red. 
But  a  hundred  and  seventy  fine  men — dead — 
Were  settling  somewhere  into  the  sand 
On  Georges  shoals,  which  is  Drowned  Men's  Land. 

«'  Seventy  widows  kneeling " 

A  long  hail  came  over  the  water  and  a  torch  was 
raised  and  lowered.  uHi-i — "  hallooed  the  voice. 

"Hi-i-i — "  hallooed  back  Clancy  as  he  pulled 
down  his  wheel.  You  might  have  thought  he  in 
tended  to  run  over  them.  But  no,  for  at  the  very 

141 


The  Seiners 

last  second  he  threw  her  up  cleverly  and  let  her 
settle  beside  the  boat,  from  which  most  of  the  men 
came  tumbling  immediately  over  the  side  of  the 
vessel.  Of  those  who  stayed,  one  shackled  the 
boat's  bow  onto  the  iron  that  hung  from  the  boom 
at  the  fore-rigging,  and  having  done  that,  braced 
an  oar  between  himself  and  the  vessel's  run  to  hold 
the  boat  away  and  steady  while  another  in  the 
stern  of  the  boat  did  the  same  thing  with  his  oar. 
In  the  boat's  waist  two  men  hung  o'nto  the  seine. 

A  section  of  the  cork  edge  of  the  seine  was  then 
gathered  inboard  and  clamped  down  over  the  ves 
sel's  rail,  with  the  mackerel  crowded  into  the 
middle  part,  and  the  bunt  of  the  seine  thus  held 
safely  between  boat  and  vessel.  Into  this  space 
the  sea  swashed  and  slapped  after  a  manner  that 
kept  all  in  the  boat  completely  drenched  and  made 
it  pretty  hard  for  the  men  in  bow  and  stern  to  fend 
off  and  retain  their  balance  at  the  same  time. 

And  then  began  the  bailing  in.  Guided  by  the 
skipper,  who  stood  on  the  break,  our  big  dip-net, 
which  could  hold  a  barrel  easily,  was  dropped  over 
the  rail  and  in  among  the  kicking  fish.  A  twist 
and  a  turn  and  "He-yew!"  the  skipper  yelled. 
"Oy-hoo !"  grunted  the  two  gangs  of  us  at  the  hal 
yards,  and  into  the  air  and  over  the  rail  swung  the 
dip-net,  swimming  full.  "Down!"  We  let  it  sag 
quickly  to  Clancy  and  Parsons,  who  were  at  the 

14* 


We  Get  a  Fine  School 

rail.  "Hi-o!"  they  called  cheerfully,  and  turned 
the  dip-net  inside  out.  Out  and  down  it  went 
again,  "He-yew!"  and  up  and  in  it  came  again. 
"Oy-hoo!"  "Hi-o!"  and  flop!  it  was  turned  up 
side  down  and  another  barrel  of  fat,  lusty  fish 
flipped  their  length  against  the  hard  deck.  Head 
and  tail  they  flipped,  each  head  and  tail  ten 
times  a  second  seemingly,  until  it  sounded — they 
beat  the  deck  so  frantically — as  if  a  regiment  of 
gentle  little  drummer  boys  were  tapping  a  low  but 
wonderfully  quick-sounding  roll.  Scales  flew.  We 
found  some  next  morning  glued  to  the  mast-head. 
I  never  can  get  some  people  to  believe  that  it  is  so — 
mackerel  scales  to  the  mast-head. 

"He-yew!"  called  the  skipper,  "Oy-hoo!"  hol 
lered  the  halyards  gang,  "Hi-o!"  sung  out  Clancy 
and  Parsons  cheerily  at  the  rail.  "Fine  fat  fish," 
commented  the  men  in  the  seine-boat,  the  only  men 
who  had  time  to  draw  an  extra  breath. 

Blazing  torches  were  all  around  us.  Arms 
worked  up  and  down,  big  boots  stamped,  while  in 
board  and  out  swung  the  dip-net,  and  onto  the  deck 
flopped  the  mackerel.  "Drive  her!"  called  the 
skipper,  and  "He-yew!"  "Oy-hoo!"  and  "Hi-o!" 
it  went.  Drenched  oilskins  steamed,  wet  faces 
glowed,  glad  eyes  shone  through  the  smoke  flare, 
and  the  pitching  vessel,  left  to  herself,  plunged  up 
and  down  to  the  lift  and  fall  of  every  sea. 

H3 


XVII 

A  DRIVE   FOR  MARKET 

HER  deck  was  pretty  well  filled  with  mackerel 
when  "All  dry,"  said  Long  Steve,  and  drew 
the  last  of  the  seine  into  the  boat. 

"Then  hurry  aboard  and  drop  that  seine-boat 
astern.  And — whose  watch?  Take  the  wheel 
— wait  till  I  give  you  the  course — there.  But  don't 
drive  her  awhile  yet.  Some  of  those  fish  might  be 
washed  over.  But  it  won't  be  for  long." 

"Ready  with  the  ice?"  he  asked  next. 

"All  ready,"  and  the  men  who  had  been  chop 
ping  ice  and  making  ready  the  pens  in  the  hold 
stood  by  to  take  the  mackerel  as  we  passed  them 
down. 

As  soon  as  we  had  enough  of  them  off  the 
vessel's  deck  to  make  it  safe  to  drive  her,  the  skip 
per  gave  her  a  little  more  sheet  and  let  her  go  for 
New  York.  We  hustled  the  seine-boat  aboard  too. 
Some  other  vessels  must  have  got  fish,  too,  and 
there  was  no  time  to  waste. 

It  was  a  good-sized  school  and  when  we  had 
them  all  iced  and  below — more  than  thirty  thou 
sand  count — it  was  time  for  all  hands  to  turn  in — 


A  Drive  For  Market 

all  but  the  two  men  on  watch  of  course.  I  didn't 
turn  in  myself,  but  after  a  mug-up  and  pipeful  be 
low  came  on  deck  again.  It  was  a  pretty  good  sort 
of  a  night  for  a  dark  night,  with  a  moderate  breeze 
that  sang  in  your  ears  when  you  leaned  against  the 
halyards  and  a  sea  that  lapped  bucketfuls  of  spray 
over  her  rail  forward  and  that  tumbled  away  in  a 
wide  flat  hump  as  our  quarter  slipped  on  and  left 
it  behind. 

I  found  the  skipper  leaning  against  the  weather 
rigging  and  watching  a  red  light  coming  up  on  us. 
Noticing  me  he  said,  "There's  that  porgy  steamer 
that  we  beat  out  for  that  school  the  other  day 
overhauling  us  now.  There's  the  beauty  of  steam. 
The  crew  of  this  one  knows  more  in  a  minute  than 
they  know  in  a  week  about  fishing  in  that  steamer, 
and  we'd  be  carrying  our  summer  kites  when  that 
gang,  if  they  were  in  a  sailing  vessel,  would  be 
laying  to  an  anchor;  and  with  our  boat  out  and 
their  boat  out  and  a  school  in  sight  they'd  have 
to  take  our  leavings.  But  here's  one  of  the  times 
when  they  have  the  best  of  it." 

There  wasn't  much  wind  stirring  then,  but  it 
promised  to  breeze  up,  or  so  the  skipper  thought, 
and  I'm  sure  I  was  glad  to  hear  him  say  it,  for 
the  harder  it  blew  the  sooner  we  would  get  to  New 
York  and  the  better  our  chance  to  beat  the  porgy- 
man.  First  in  to  market  got  the  cream. 


The  Seiners 

It  was  pretty  well  on  to  daybreak  when  the 
porgy  steamer  got  up  abreast  of  us  and  after 
a  while  worked  by.  One  of  them  took  the  trouble 
to  sing  out  to  us  when  they  went  by,  "Well,  you  got 
a  school  before  us,  but  we'll  be  tied  up  and  into 
the  dock  and  spending  our  money  ashore  whilst 
you're  still  along  the  Jersey  coast  somewhere." 

And  we  supposed  they  would,  but  Hurd,  who 
was  then  to  our  wheel,  had  to  call  back  to  them, 
"Oh,  I  dunno.  I  dunno  about  that — it's  a  good 
run  to  Fulton  Market  dock  yet."  And,  turning  to 
us,  "I  hope  the  bloody  old  boiler  explodes  so  no- 
body'll  be  able  to  find  a  mackerel  of  'em  this  side 
the  Bay  of  Fundy.  Of  course  I  wouldn't  want  to 
see  the  men  come  to  any  harm,  but  wouldn't  it  jar 
you — them  scrubs?" 

The  skipper  wasn't  saying  anything.  And  it 
meant  a  lot  to  him,  too.  He  was  looking  after  the 
steamer  and,  I  know,  praying  for  wind.  We  could 
see  it  in  his  eyes. 

And  sometimes  things  come  as  we  like  to  have 
them.  At  full  dawn  it  was  a  nice  breeze  with  the 
Johnnie  Duncan  washing  her  face  in  plenty  of  good 
spray  and  the  fine  sun  shining  warm  on  a  fresh 
sea-way.  Another  hour,  the  wind  hauling  and  still 
making,  the  Johnnie  was  down  to  her  rail,  and 
awhile  after  that  she  was  getting  all  the  wind  she 
needed. 

146 


A  Drive  For  Market 

"We  may  have  a  chance  to  try  her  out  on  this 
run,  who  knows?"  said  the  skipper.  We  were 
coming  up  on  the  porgy  steamer  then  and  you 
should  have  seen  his  eyes  when  they  looked  from 
the  rail  to  the  deck  of  his  vessel  and  from  the 
deck  again  to  aloft.  On  the  steamer  the  gang  were 
in  the  waist  watching  us  coming  and  they  must 
have  been  piling  the  coal  into  her  below  and  giv 
ing  her  the  jet  steadily,  for  out  of  her  funnel  was 
coming  the  smoke  in  clouds  mixed  with  steam. 

"But  their  firemen  can  stoke  till  they're  black  in 
the  face  and  they  won't  get  more  than  eleven  or 
eleven  and  a  half  knots  out  of  her,"  said  Clancy. 
"I  know  her — the  Nautilus — and  if  this  one  under 
us  ain't  logging  her  fourteen  good  then  I  don't 
know.  And  she'll  be  doing  better  yet  before  we 
see  New  York." 

They  were  driving  the  porgyman  then,  but  she 
was  fated.  Once  we  began  to  get  her  she  came 
back  to  us  fast  enough,  and  once  she  was  astern 
she  troubled  us  no  more.  After  the  porgyman  we 
passed  a  big  white  yacht,  evidently  just  up  from 
the  West  Indies  after  a  winter's  cruise.  She  looked 
a  model  for  a  good  sailer,  but  there  was  no  chance 
to  try  her  out,  for  they  had  her  under  shortened 
sail  when  we  went  by. 

There  was  a  New  York  blue-fisherman  on  our 
weather  bow  bound  for  New  York,  too,  and  the 


The  Seiners 

way  we  went  by  her  was  a  scandal.  And  farther 
on  we  drove  by  a  big  bark — big  enough,  almost, 
to  take  us  aboard.  They  were  plainly  trying  to 
make  a  passage  on  her,  but  we  left  her  too.  Then 
we  passed  another  yacht,  but  she  wasn't  carrying 
half  our  sail.  Her  hull  was  as  long  as  ours,  but 
she  didn't  begin  to  be  sparred  as  we  were.  We 
must  have  had  ten  feet  on  her  main-boom  and  ten 
feet  more  bowsprit  outboard,  and  yet  under  her 
four  lower  sails  she  seemed  to  be  making  heavy 
going  of  it.  It's  a  good  yacht  that  can  hold  a  fish 
erman  in  a  breeze  and  a  sea-way.  We  beat  this 
one  about  as  bad  as  we  beat  the  blue-fisherman. 
As  we  went  by  we  tried  to  look  as  though  we  had 
beaten  so  many  vessels  that  we'd  lost  all  interest  in 
racing,  and  at  the  same  time  we  were  all  dancing 
on  our  toes  to  think  what  a  vessel  we  had  under 
us.  It  was  that  passage  we  held  the  north-bound 
Savannah  steamer  for  seven  hours.  Her  passen 
gers  stood  by  the  rail  and  watched  us,  and  when 
at  last  we  crowded  our  bowsprit  past  her  nose,  they 
waved  their  handkerchiefs  and  cheered  us  like 
mad. 

"When  we  get  this  one  loosened  up  a  bit  and 
down  to  her  trim,  she'll  sail  some  or  I  don't  know," 
said  our  skipper.  He  stood  in  the  cabin  gangway 
then  and  filled  his  boots  with  water,  but  he  wouldn't 
take  in  sail.  Back  behind  us  was  another  seiner. 

148 


A  Drive  For  Market 

We  could  just  make  out  that  they  were  soaking  it 
to  her  too.  The  skipper  nodded  his  head  back 
at  her.  Then,  with  one  hand  on  the  house  and  the 
other  on  the  rail,  he  looked  out  from  under  our 
main-boom  and  across  at  the  steamer.  "Not  a  rag 
— let  the  spars  come  out  of  her." 

One  thing  was  sure — the  Johnnie  was  a  vessel 
that  could  stand  driving.  She  didn't  crowd  her 
self  as  she  got  going.  No,  sir!  The  harder  we 
drove  her  the  faster  she  went.  Laying  down  on 
her  side  made  no  difference  to  her.  In  fact  we  were 
not  sure  that  she  wouldn't  do  her  best  sailing  on 
her  side.  But  it  hadn't  come  to  that  yet.  She  was 
standing  up  under  sail  fine.  Most  of  them,  we 
knew,  would  have  washed  everything  off  their  deck 
before  that.  And  certainly  there  would  have  been 
no  standing  down  by  the  lee  rail  on  too  many  of 
them  with  that  breeze  abeam. 

Going  up  New  York  harbor,  where  we  had  to 
tack,  the  Savannah  steamer  could  have  gone  by  if 
she  had  to,  but  big  steamers  slow  down  some  going 
into  a  harbor,  and  we  holding  on  to  everything 
made  up  for  the  extra  distance  sailed.  The  wind, 
of  course,  was  nothing  to  what  it  was  outside,  and 
that  made  some  difference.  Anyway,  we  kept  the 
Johnnie  going  and  held  the  steamer  up  to  the  Bat 
tery,  where,  as  she  had  to  go  up  North  River,  she 
gave  us  three  toots.  The  people  on  the  Battery 

149 


The  Seiners 

must  have  had  a  good  look  at  us.  I  guess  it  was 
not  every  day  they  saw  a  schooner  of  the  Johnnie's 
size  carrying  on  like  that.  Billie  Hurd  had  to  pay 
his  respects  to  them.  "Look,  you  loafers,  look, 
and  see  a  real  vessel  sailing  in." 

There  was  a  sassy  little  East  River  towboat  that 
wanted  to  give  us  a  tow,  but  our  skipper  said  it 
would  be  losing  time  to  take  sail  off  and  wait  for  a 
line  then.  The  tug  captain  said,  "Oh,  no;  and 
you  can't  dock  her  anyway  in  this  harbor  without 
a  tug." 

"Oh,  I  can  dock  her  all  right,  I  guess,"  said  our 
skipper. 

"Maybe  you  think  you  can,  but  wait  till  you  try 
it,  and  have  a  nice  little  bill  for  damages  besides." 

"Well,  the  vessel's  good  for  the  damages,  too." 

That  towboat  tailed  us  just  the  same,  but  we 
had  the  satisfaction  of  fooling  him.  The  skipper 
kept  the  Johnnie  going  till  the  right  time  and  then, 
when  the  tugboat  people  thought  it  was  too  late, 
he  shot  her  about  on  her  heel  and  into  the  dock 
with  her  mainsail  coming  down  on  the  run  and 
jibs  dead. 

A  couple  of  East  Side  loafers  standing  on  the 
wharf  cap-log  were  nearly  swept  away  by  the  end 
of  our  bowsprit,  we  came  on  so  fast.  Four  or  five 
of  us  leaped  ashore,  and  with  lines  out  and  made 
fast  in  no  time,  we  had  her  docked  without  so  much 

150 


A  Drive  For  Market 

as  cracking  a  single  shingle  of  the  house  across  the 
head  of  the  dock. 

We  sold  our  mackerel  for  nineteen  cents  apiece. 
Fifty-seven  hundred  and  odd  dollars  was  our  stock, 
and  about  a  hundred  and  forty  dollars  each  man's 
share.  We  felt  a  little  bit  chesty  after  that.  We 
were  not  the  first  to  market  that  year,  but  we  were 
the  first  since  the  early  flurry,  and  the  biggest  stock 
so  far  that  spring  was  to  our  credit. 

We  stood  on  the  deck  and  watched  the  porgy 
steamer  come  in  and  tie  up,  too  late  for  that  day's 
market.  Some  of  our  fellows  had  to  ask  them 
where  they  got  their  fish — to  the  s'uth'ard  or 
where? — and  two  or  three  fights  came  out  of  it, 
but  no  harm  done.  Then  nearly  everybody  drew 
some  money  off  the  skipper,  and  we  smoked  fifteen- 
cent  cigars  and  threw  our  chests  out.  We  all  went 
uptown,  too,  and  took  in  the  theatres  that  night, 
and  afterwards  treated  each  other  and  pretty 
nearly  everybody  else  that  we  met  along  the  East 
Side  on  the  way  back,  until  the  policemen  began  to 
notice  us  and  ask  if  we  didn't  think  we'd  better 
be  getting  back  to  our  ships.  One  or  two  of  the 
crew  had  to  get  into  fights  with  the  toughs  along 
the  water  front,  but  we  were  all  safely  aboard  by 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

All  but  Clancy.  Some  of  us  were  trying  to  get 
some  sleep  along  towards  morning  when  Clancy 


The  Seiners 

came  aboard  with  a  fine  shore  list.  The  cook,  who 
was  up  and  stirring  about  for  breakfast,  noticed 
him  first.  "It's  a  fine  list  you've  got,  Tommie." 
"And  why  not? — and  a  fine  beam  wind  coming 
down  the  street.  I'm  like  a  lot  of  other  deep- 
draught  craft  of  good  model,  George — I  sail  best 
with  the  wind  abeam.  A  bit  of  a  list  gets  you 
down  to  your  lines."  And  until  we  turned  out  for 
breakfast,  after  which  it  was  time  to  be  off  and 
away  to  the  fleet  again,  he  kept  us  all  in  a  roar  with 
the  story  of  his  adventures. 


152 


XVIII 

A  BRUSH  WITH  THE  YACHTING  FLEET 

THROUGH  all  of  that  montK  and  through' 
most  of  the  month  of  May  we  chased  the 
mackerel  up  the  coast.  By  the  middle  of  May 
we  were  well  up  front  with  the  killers,  and  our 
skipper's  reputation  was  gaining.  The  vessel,  too, 
was  getting  quite  a  name  as  a  sailer.  Along  the 
Maryland,  Delaware,  and  Jersey  coasts  we  chased 
them — on  up  to  off  Sandy  Hook  and  then  along 
the  Long  Island  shore,  running  them  fresh  into 
New  York.  There'  were  nights  and  days  that 
spring  when  we  saw  some  driving  on  the  Johnnie 
Duncan. 

Toward  the  end  of  May,  with  the  fish  schooling 
easterly  to  off  No  Man's  Land  and  reported  as 
being  seen  on  Georges  and  in  the  'Bay  of  Fundy — 
working  to  the  eastward  all  the  time — we  thought 
the  skipper  would  put  for  home,  take  in  salt,  fill 
the  hold  with  barrels  and  refit  for  a  Cape  Shore 
trip — that  is,  head  the  fish  off  along  the  Nova 
Scotia  shore,  from  Cape  Sable  and  on  to  anywhere 
around  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence,  and  stay  there 
until  we  had  filled  her  up  with  salt  mackerel.  We 


The  Seiners 

thought  so,  because  most  of  the  fleet  had  decided 
on  that  plan  and  because  we  had  been  away  from 
home  since  the  first  of  April.  But  no — he  stayed 
cruising  off  Block  Island  and  running  them  fresh 
into  Newport  with  the  last  half-dozen  of  the  fleet. 
Our  idea  of  it  was  that  the  skipper  wanted  to  go 
home  badly  enough,  but  he  was  set  on  getting  a 
big  stock  and  didn't  care  what  it  cost  himself  or  us 
to  get  it.  Some  of  us  would  have  given  a  lot  to 
be  home. 

"  Oh,  fine  blue  sky  and  a  fine  blue  sea 
And  a  blue-eyed  girl  awaiting  me,*' 

was  how  Clancy  put  it  as  he  came  down  from  aloft 
one  afternoon  and  took  the  wheel  from  me.  uBy 
the  wind  is  it,  Joe?" 

"By  the  wind,"  I  said — the  usual  word  when 
seiners  are  cruising  for  mackerel,  and  I  went  aloft 
to  take  his  place  at  the  mast-head.  It  was  a  lazy 
watch,  as  the  mackerel  generally  were  not  showing 
at  this  time  in  the  middle  of  the  day.  They  seemed 
to  prefer  the  early  morning  or  the  late  afternoon, 
or  above  all  a  dark  night. 

Long  Steve,  who  came  up  this  day  to  pass  the 
time  with  me  aloft,  had  been  telling  me  about  his 
old  home,  when  we  both  noticed  the  topsails  of 
what  we  knew  must  be  the  first  of  a  fleet  of  big 
schooner  yachts  racing  to  Newport — from  New 

154 


A  Brush   With  The  Yachting  Fleet 

York,  no  doubt,  on  one  of  their  ocean  races.  Steve, 
of  course,  had  to  try  to  name  the  leader,  while 
she  was  yet  miles  away — seiners  have  wonderful 
eyes  for  vessels — and  was  still  at  it,  naming  the 
others  behind,  when  the  next  on  watch  relieved 
me  and  I  went  below. 

The  first  of  the  yachts  was  almost  on  us  when 
I  came  down,  and  Clancy  was  watching  her  like 
a  hawk  when  he  turned  the  wheel  over  to  the  next 
man.  She  was  as  about  as  big  as  we  were.  We 
knew  her  well.  She  had  been  a  cup  defender  and 
afterwards  changed  to  a  schooner  rig.  Our  skipper 
was  taking  a  nap  below  at  this  time,  or  we  sup 
posed  he  was.  He  had  been  up  nearly  a  week, 
with  no  more  than  a  two-hours'  sleep  each  day,  and 
so  was  pretty  well  tired.  That  was  what  made 
Clancy  stand  by  the  wheel  and  ask  if  the  skipper 
was  still  asleep. 

"No,"  said  the  skipper  himself.  He  had  just 
turned  out,  and  in  his  stocking  feet  he  came  to  the 
companionway  and  looked  up.  ".What  is  it?" 

"Here's  this  big  yacht  crawling  by  on  our  quar 
ter — she'll  be  by  us  soon.  I  thought  you  wouldn't 
like  it." 

"I'll  be  right  up.    Tell  the  gang  to  sway  up." 

He  drew  on  his  slip-shods  and  came  on  deck. 
He  took  a  look  over  at  the  yacht  while  we  were 
swaying  up.  When  we  had  everything  good  and 


The  Seiners 

flat  and  trimmed  sheets  a  bit,  the  skipper  called 
out  to  take  in  the  fore-topsail.  "She  hasn't  got  hers 
set,"  he  explained. 

Now,  a  fore-topsail  does  not  help  much — hauled 
up,  as  were  the  Johnnie  Duncan  and  the  yacht,  it 
would  be  a  hindrance  to  most  vessels,  and,  perhaps, 
because  it  did  not  help  her  was  why  the  yacht  had 
not  hers  set.  But  it  showed  the  skipper's  fairness. 
Ours  had  been  left  set,  because  we  might  need  it 
in  a  hurry,  and  also  because  with  the  skipper  be 
low  nobody  could  order  it  down.  Now  we  clewed 
it  up. 

Clancy,  standing  aft,  threw  a  look  at  our  seine- 
boat,  which  of  course  we  had  in  tow.  "She's  quite 
a  drag,"  he  suggested,  ufor  a  vessel  that's  racing." 

"Yes,"  said  the  skipper,  "but  wait  a  while.  We 
won't  cast  it  off  unless  we  have  to." 

We  did  not  have  to.  We  soon  had  her  in  trim. 
For  weeks  the  skipper  and  Clancy  had  been  mark 
ing  the  Johnnie's  sheets  so  that  in  an  emergency 
they  could  whip  her  into  her  best  sailing  in  no  time. 
With  that,  and  with  the  shifting  of  some  barrels 
of  salt  that  we  had  on  deck,  we  soon  had  her  going. 
It  is  surprising  what  a  lot  of  difference  the  shifting 
of  a  few  barrels  of  salt  will  make  in  the  trim  of  a 
vessel.  We  had  not  had  a  try  with  anything  for 
two  weeks  or  so  and  had  become  careless.  The 
last  thing  we  did  was  to  take  some  barrels  of  fresh 

156 


A  Brush  With  The  Yachting  Fleet 

water  that  happened  to  be  standing  forward  of  the 
windlass  and  shift  them  aft,  and  then  the  Johnnie 
began  to  go  along  for  fair. 

Coming  up  to  Block  Island  Light  things  were 
pretty  even.  Then  it  came  a  question  of  who  was 
to  go  to  windward.  The  yacht  hauled  her  main- 
sheet  in  to  two  blocks.  So  did  we,  and,  further,  ran 
a  line  from  the  cringle  in  her  foresail  to  the 
weather  rigging.  She  could  not  make  it — we  had 
her. 

"Mind  the  time,"  said  the  skipper,  when  at 
last  we  had  her  under  our  quarter — "mind  the 
time,  Tommie,  when  we  used  to  do  so  much  racing 
down  on  the  Cape  shore?  There's  where  we  had 
plenty  of  time  for  racing  and  all  sorts  of  foolish 
ness.  I  was  pretty  young  then,  but  I  mind  it  well. 
A  string  of  men  on  the  rigging  from  the  shear 
poles  clear  up  to  the  mast-head — yes,  and  a  man 
astraddle  the  main  gaff  once  or  twice,  passing 
buckets  of  water  to  wet  down  the  mains'l." 

"Yes,  and  barrels  of  water  out  toward  the 
end  of  the  main-boom  keep  the  sail  stretched. 
Man,  but  those  were  the  days  we  paid  attention 
to  racing." 

"Those  were  the  days,"  asserted  the  skipper. 
"But  we  can  do  a  little  of  it  now,  too." 

By  that  you  will  understand  we  were  walking 
away  from  our  yacht.  We  were  to  anchor  in  the 

157 


The    Seiners 

harhor   while    she    was   still    corning,    and    we    hud 
lowed   our  seme  hoat    all   llir   way. 

"Lord,"  -.aid  (  lan<  y,  ;r.  wr  were  tyin;/  up  our 
foresail,  "hill  I'd  like  lo  see  this  one  in  an  ocean 
HIM-  willi  plenty  of  wind  stiinnj'  not  a  Hat 
hrer/.c  and  a  short  drap.  like  we  had  lo-day." 


XIX 

MINNIE  ARKELL  AGAIN 

C<  ^MING  on  to  dark  that  night  a  gig  put  off 
from  the  schooner-yacht  and  rowed  over 
to  us.  On  the  way  she  was  hailed  and  pasted  ft 
few  words  with  a  steam-yacht  anchored  in  between. 
The  man  in  the  stem  of  the  gig  was  not  satisfied 
until  he  had  been  rowed  three  times  around  the 
Johnnie.  When  he  had  looked  his  fill  he  came 
alongside. 

1  le  mistook  Clancy  for  the  skipper.  I  suppose 
he  couldn't  imagine  a  man  of  Clancy's  figure  and 
hearing  to  be  an  ordinary  hand  on  a  fisherman.  S 
to  Clancy  he  said,  "Captain,  you've  got  a  wonder 
ful  vessel  here.  Put  a  single  stick  in  her  and  she'll 
beat  the  world." 

"Yes,"  said  Clancy,  "and  she'd  be  a  hell  of  a 
fine  fisherman  then,  wouldn't  she?" 

The  rest  of  us  had  to  roar  at  that.  We  at  once 
pictured  the  Johnnie  rigged  up  as  a  sloop  out  on 
the  Grand  Banks,  trawling  or  hand-lining,  with 
the  crew  trying  to  handle  her  in  some  of  the  winter 
gales  that  struck  in  there.  And  a  great  chance 

J59 


The  Seiners 

she  would  have  rigged  as  a  sloop  and  her  one 
big  sail,  making  a  winter  passage  home  eight  or 
nine  or  ten  hundred  miles,  when  as  it  was,  with 
the  sail  split  up  to  schooner  rig,  men  found  it  bad 
enough. 

The  master  of  the  yacht  had  a  message  for  our 
captain,  he  said,  and  Clancy  told  him  the  skipper 
was  below.  There  they  talked  for  a  while  and 
after  the  yachtsman  had  gone  Maurice,  inviting 
four  or  five  of  us  along,  dressed  up,  called  for  the 
seine-boat,  got  in  and  was  rowed  over  to  a  steam- 
yacht  that  we  now  remembered  had  hailed  the 
schooner-yacht's  gig.  All  brass  and  varnish  and 
white  paint  and  gold  she  would  be  in  the  daytime, 
but  now  she  was  all  lit  up  with  electric  lights  below 
and  Japanese  lanterns  on  deck. 

When  we  came  alongside,  who  should  come  to 
the  gangway  of  the  yacht  and  welcome  Maurice 
but  Minnie  Arkell — Mrs.  Miner.  She  greeted  all 
of  us  for  that  matter — she  never  pretended  not  to 
see  people — and  invited  us  all  below  for  refresh 
ments.  There  was  a  good  lay-out  there  and  we 
pitched  into  it.  Seiners  are  great  people  at  table 
or  in  a  bunk.  They  can  turn  to  and  eat,  or  turn 
in  and  sleep  any  minute,  day  or  night.  So  now  we 
turned  to.  Clancy  did  great  things  to  the  wine. 
Generally  he  took  whiskey,  but  he  did  not  object 
to  good  wine  now  and  then.  He  and  one  fellow 

1 60 


Minnie  Arkell   Again 

in  a  blue  coat,  white  duck  trousers,  and  a  blue  cap 
that  never  left  his  head,  had  a  great  chat. 

"I  callate  that  if  he  didn't  have  that  cap  with 
the  button  on  front  nobody'd  know  he  was  a  real 
yachtsman,  would  they?"  Eddie  Parsons  whispered 
in  my  ear. 

The  owner  of  the  steam-yacht  was  trying  to  con 
vince  Tommie  that  yachting  would  be  more  in  his 
line  than  fishing,  but  Tommie  couldn't  see  it. 

"But  why  not?"  he  asked  at  last.  "Why  not, 
Mr.  Clancy?  Is  it  a  matter  of  money?  If  it  is, 
I'll  make  that  right.  I  pay  ordinary  hands  twenty- 
five  and  thirty  dollars  a  month  and  found,  but  I'll 
pay  you  fifty — sixty — seventy  dollars  a  month  to 
go  with  me.  I'm  going  to  race  this  steamer  this 
summer  and  I  want  a  quartermaster — a  man  like 
you  that  can  steer  to  a  hair-line.  Seventy  dollars 
a  month  now — what  do  you  say?n 

"Come  now,  my  good  man,  what  do  you  say?" 
Clancy  got  that  off  without  so  much  as  a  smile. 
"But  you  couldn't  make  it  seventy-five  now,  could 
you?  No,  I  didn't  mean  that  quite,  though  I've 
been  out  the  dock  in  Gloucester  of  a  Saturday  noon 
and  back  again  to  the  dock  of  a  Tuesday  noon — 
three  days — and  shared  two  hundred  dollars — not 
as  skipper,  mind  you,  but  just  as  hand.  There 
now,  I  hope  you're  not  going  to  get  angry.  Hadn't 
we  better  have  another  little  touch?  But  I  can  see 

161 


The  Seiners 

myself  in  a  suit  of  white  duck,  touching  my  cap, 
and  saying,  'Aye,  aye,  sir,'  to  some  slob — no  refer 
ence  to  you,  mind  you — but  some  slob  in  a  uniform 
that's  got  a  yacht,  not  because  he  loves  the  sea, 
but  because  he  wants  to  butt  in  somewhere — who 
lives  aboard  his  yacht  just  the  same  as  he  does  in 
his  house  ashore — electric  bells,  baths,  servants, 
barber  and  all — and  hugs  the  shore  so  close  that  he 
gets  the  morning  paper  as  regularly  as  when  he's 
at  home.  When  that  kind  go  yachting  all  they 
miss  are  the  tables  on  the  lawn  and  the  auto 
mobiles  going  by  the  door.  They  even  have  canary- 
birds — some  of  them — in  cages.  Yes,  and  wouldn't 
be  caught  twenty  miles  off  shore — no,  not  even  in 
a  summer's  breeze  for —  And  where  would  he  be 
in  a  winter's  gale  ?  I  can  see  myself  rowing  a  gig 
with  somebody  like  that  in  the  stern  giving  orders 
and  fooling — well,  some  simple-minded  women 
folks,  maybe,  who  know  as  much  of  the  sea  as 
they  do  of  the  next  world — most  of  them — fooling 
them  into  believing  that  he's  a  devil — yes,  a  clean 
devil  on  the  water.  Seventy  a  month  for  that? — 
couldn't  you  make  it  seventy-five?" 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that " 

"Yes,"  said  Clancy,  "I  do.  I'd  rather  stick  to 
fishing  than — but  here's  a  shoot  and  let's  call  the 
quartermaster's  job  off." 

Minnie  Arkell  chimed  in  here.  "A  real  fisher- 
162 


Minnie  Arkell  Again 

man,  you  must  remember,  Mr.  Keith,  doesn't  care 
much  for  yachting  because — leaving  out  the  ques 
tion  of  wages,  for  he  does  make  more  at  fish 
ing — he  can  remain  a  fisherman  and  yet  be  inde 
pendent" 

"You  mean  they  don't  have  to  take  orders  as 
if  they  were  on  a  yacht,  Mrs.  Miner?" 

"No,  no — don't  make  any  mistake  there.  The 
discipline  of  a  yacht,  so  far  as  I  know  it,  is  baby 
play  to  what  they  have  on  a  good  fisherman.  The 
discipline  aboard  a  warship  is  nothing  to  that 
aboard  a  fisherman,  like  Captain  Blake's  vessel 
say,  when  there  is  anything  to  be  done.  Fisher 
men,  it's  true,  don't  have  to  touch  their  caps  and 
say,  'Very  good,  sir,'  to  a  man  who  may  be  no  more 
of  a  real  man  than  themselves.  On  your  yacht  I 
suppose  you'd  discharge  a  man  who  didn't  do  what 
he  was  told,  and  on  a  warship  he  would  be  sent 
to  the  brig,  I  suppose.  On  a  fisherman  he'd  be  put 
ashore.  On  a  fisherman  they  not  only  obey  orders, 
but  they  carry  them  out  on  the  jump.  And  why? 
Because  they've  always  done  it.  Why,  deep-sea 
fishermen  are  always  getting  into  places  where  only 
the  best  of  seamanship  can  save  them,  and  they 
very  early  get  in  the  way  of  doing  things  up  quick 
and  right.  When  a  Gloucester  skipper  orders  in 
the  sail,  say  in  a  gale  of  wind,  and  more  than  apt 
to  be  in  the  middle  of  the  night — you  don't  see 


The  Seiners 

men  trying  to  see  how  long  it  will  take  them  to 
get  into  oilskins — or  filling  another  pipe  before 
they  climb  on  deck.  No,  sir — the  first  man  out  on 
the  bowsprit,  if  it's  the  jib  to  come  in — or  out  on 
the  foot-ropes,  if  it's  the  mainsail  to  be  tied  up — 
he's  the  man  that  will  have  a  right  to  hold  his  head 
high  next  day  aboard  that  vessel.  And  so  the 
crew  of  a  fisherman  jump  to  their  work — if  they 
didn't  there'd  be  a  lot  more  of  them  lost  than 
there  are." 

"Dear  me,"  said  Mr.  Keith,  "that  never  oc 
curred  to  me  before.  But  how  is  it,  Mrs.  Miner, 
that  you  have  it  down  so  fine?" 

"My  father  was  a  Gloucester  skipper,  and  since 
I  was  that  high" — she  put  her  hand  on  a  level 
with  her  knee — "I've  been  listening  to  fishermen. 
And  yachting  life  does  tend  to  spoil  a  fisherman," 
she  went  on  to  explain.  "After  a  summer  of  yacht 
ing  a  fisherman  will  begin  to  think  that  a  winter 
of  fishing  is  going  to  be  a  serious  thing."  She  was 
warmed  up  then  and  went  on  talking  at  a  great 
rate.  And  listening  to  her  I  could  understand  bet 
ter  why  men  took  to  her.  She  had  warm  blood  in 
her.  If  it  were  not  for  her  weakness  to  be  ad- 
naired  by  men,  she  would  have  been  a  great  woman. 
"And  they  get  so,  that  what  seems  extraordinary 
work  to  you  is  only  an  every-day  matter  to  them. 
Do  you  remember  that  last  schooner-yacht  race 


Minnie  Arkell  Again 

across  the  Atlantic? — when  two  or  three  reporters 
went  along,  and  after  they  got  back  wrote  all  kinds 
of  stories  of  what  a  desperate  trip  it  was — how 
rough  it  was  and  dangerous !  Well,  that  time  there 
were  three  or  four  Gloucestermen  making  the  run 
to  Iceland.  Now,  they  were  not  as  big  as  the 
racing  yachts  and  they  were  loaded  down  with  all 
the  stores  for  a  long  salt  trip — their  holds  full  of 
salt,  for  one  thing — and  yet  they  made  about  as 
good  time  to  Iceland  as  that  yachtsman  made  to 
Queenstown.  And  they  weren't  driving  their  ves 
sels  either — they  don't  drive  on  the  way  out.  It's 
only  coming  home  that  they  try  to  make  passages. 
Now,  they  must  have  got  the  same  weather  and 
yet  nobody  ever  heard  them  in  their  letters  home 
report  a  word  of  bad  weather,  or  ever  afterward, 
either.  And  yet — but  were  you  to  Iceland  that 
time,  Maurice?" 

"No,"  said  the  skipper,  "but  you  were, 
Tommie?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Clancy,  "in  the  Lucy  Foster. 
We  made  Rik-ie-vik  inside  of  fourteen  days,  carry 
ing  both  tops'ls  all  the  way.  Wesley — Wesley 
Marrs — wasn't  hurrying  her,  of  course.  As  Mrs. 
Miner  says,  the  vessels  going  to  the  east'ard  don't 
hurry,  except  now  and  then  when  two  of  them 
with  records  get  together.  And  the  Lucy  was  logy, 
of  course,  with  the  three  hundred  and  odd  hogs- 

165 


The  Seiners 

heads  of  salt  and  other  stuff  in  her.  If  we'd  been 
driving  her  going  to  Iceland  that  time  we'd  have 
had  the  stays'l  and  balloon  to  her — and  she'd  have 
gone  right  along  with  them,  too." 

Mrs.  Miner  looked  around  at  her  yachting 
friends  to  see  if  they  were  getting  all  that. 

"There  was  one  day  that  passage  it  blew  a 
bit,"  exclaimed  Clancy.  "And  that  was  the  day  we 
thought  we  saw  a  fellow  to  the  east'ard.  We  had 
men  by  the  halyards  all  that  day  with  splitting 
knives." 

"Why?"  asked  Keith. 

"Why,  to  cut  before  she  could  capsize." 

"Oh!"  said  Keith  and  said  it  with  a  little 
click. 

"But  that's  nothing.  I've  seen  the  gang  with 
Tom  O'Donnell  standing  watch  by  the  halyards 
for  days  with  axes  when  he  was  making  a  pas 
sage." 

Minnie  Arkell  filled  another  glass  of  champagne 
for  Clancy,  and  Clancy  didn't  give  the  fizz  too 
much  time  to  melt  away  either. 

"These  men  are  the  real  things,"  she  said,  but 
Clancy,  for  fear  we  were  getting  too  much  credit, 
broke  in,  "Not  us  seiners.  It's  the  winter  fisher 
men — trawlers  and  hand-liners — that  are  the  real 
things.  Of  course,  we  lose  men  now  and  then 
seining,  but  it's  in  winter  up  on  the  shoal  water 

166 


Minnie  Arkell  Again 

on  the  Banks  that — there's  where  you  have  some 
seas  to  buck  against,"  and  he  went  on  to  tell  of  a 
battle  with  a  gale  on  a  winter's  night  on  the  Grand 
Banks.  Clancy  could  tell  a  story  as  well  as  any 
body  I  ever  met.  He  could  make  the  blood  jump 
to  your  heart,  or  the  tears  to  your  eyes — or  he  could 
chill  you  till  the  blood  froze.  When  he  got 
through  you  could  hear  them  all  breathing — men 
and  women  both,  like  people  who  had  just  run  a 
race.  "Two  hundred  and  odd  men  sailing  out  of 
Gloucester,"  he  said,  "went  down  that  night. 
There  weren't  too  many  came  safe  out  of  that 
blow.  The  father  of  this  boy  here  was  lost — the 
Mary  Buckley  warn't  it,  Joe? — named  for  your 
mother?" 

"And  my  father,  too,  was  lost  soon  after,"  said 
Minnie  Arkell,  and  the  glance  she  gave  me  melted 
a  lot  of  prejudice  I  had  felt  for  her.  That  was  the 
good  human  side  to  her. 

"No  better  man  ever  sailed  out  of  Gloucester, 
Mrs.  Miner,"  said  Clancy. 

She  flushed  up.  "Thank  you,  Tommie,  for  that, 
though  I  know  he  was  a  reckless  man."  And,  she 
might  have  added,  he  left  some  of  his  recklessness 
in  the  blood  of  the  Arkells. 

The  skipper  told  them  a  lot  about  sea  life  that 
night.  Some  of  the  stories  he  told,  though  long 
known  in  Gloucester,  they  took  to  be  yarns  at  first. 


The  Seiners 

They  could  not  believe  that  men  went  through  such 
things  and  lived.  And  then  the  skipper  had  such 
an  easy  way  of  telling  them.  After  a  man  has 
been  through  a  lot  of  unusual  things- — had  them 
years  behind  him  and  almost  forgotten  them — I 
suppose  they  don't  surprise  him  any  more. 

The  skipper  looked  well  that  night.  When  he 
warmed  up  and  his  eyes  took  on  a  fresh  shine  and 
his  mouth  softened  like  a  woman's,  I  tell  you  he 
was  a  winner.  I  could  not  help  comparing  him 
with  the  steam-yacht  owner,  who  was  a  good-look 
ing  man,  too,  but  in  a  different  way.  Both  of  them, 
to  look  at,  were  of  the  same  size.  Both  had  their 
clothes  made  by  tailors  who  knew  their  business 
and  took  pains  with  the  fitting,  though  it  was 
easy  to  fit  men  like  Clancy  and  the  skipper,  such 
fine  level  shoulders  and  flat  broad  backs  they  had. 
Now  the  skipper,  as  I  say,  when  he  warmed  up 
began  to  look  something  like  what  he  ought — like 
he  did  when  walking  the  quarter  and  the  vessel 
going  out  to  sea.  Only  then  it  would  be  in  a  blue 
flannel  shirt  open  at  the  throat  and  in  jack-boots. 
But  now,  in  the  cabin  of  that  yacht,  dressed  as  he 
was  in  black  clothes  like  anybody  else  and  in  good- 
fitting  shoes,  you  had  to  take  a  second  look  at  him 
to  get  his  measure.  The  yachtsman  thought  that 
he  and  the  skipper  were  of  about  the  same  size,  and 
barring  that  the  skipper's  shoulders  were  a  shade 

168 


Minnie  Arkell  Again 

wider  there  wasn't  so  much  difference  to  look  at. 
But  there  was  a  difference,  just  the  same.  The 
yachtsman  weighed  a  hundred  and  seventy-five 
pounds.  He  asked  what  Maurice  weighed.  "Oh, 
about  the  same,"  said  Maurice.  But  I  and  Clancy 
knew  that  he  weighed  a  hundred  and  ninety-five, 
and  Minnie  Arkell,  who  knew  too,  finally  had  to 
tell  it,  and  then  they  all  took  another  look  at  the 
two  men  and  could  see  where  the  difference  lay. 
There  was  no  padding  to  Maurice,  and  when 
you  put  your  hand  where  his  shoulders  and 
back  muscles  ought  to  be  you  found  something 
there. 

When  we  were  leaving  that  night,  Mrs.  Miner 
stopped  Maurice  on  the  gangway  to  say,  "And 
when  they  have  the  fishermen's  race  this  fall,  you 
must  sail  the  Johnnie  Duncan,  Maurice,  as  youVe 
never  sailed  a  vessel  yet.  With  you  on  the  quarter 
and  Clancy  to  the  wheel  she  ought  to  do  great 
things." 

"Oh,  we'll  race  her  as  well  as  we  know  how  if 
we're  around,  but  Tom  O'Donnell  and  Wesley 
Marrs  and  Tommie  Ohlsen  and  Sam  Hollis  and 
the  rest — they'll  have  something  to  say  about  it, 
I'm  afraid." 

"What  of  it?  You've  got  the  vessel  and  you 
must  win — I'll  bet  all  the  loose  money  I  have  in 
the  world  on  her.  Remember  I  own  a  third  of 

169 


The  Seiners 

her.     Mr.  Duncan  sold  me  a  third  just  before  I 
left  Gloucester." 

That  was  a  surprise  to  us — that  Mrs.  Miner 
owned  a  part  of  the  Johnnie  Duncan.  It  set  Clancy 
to  figuring,  and  turning  in  that  night,  he  said — he 
was  full  of  fizzy  wine,  but  clear-headed  enough — 
"Well,  what  do  you  make  of  that?  The  Foster 
girl  a  third  and  Minnie  Arkell  a  third  of  this  one. 
I'm  just  wise  to  it  that  it  wasn't  old  Duncan  alone 
that  wanted  Maurice  for  skipper.  Lord,  Lord, 
down  at  the  Delaware  Breakwater  do  you  remem 
ber  that  when  we  heard  that  the  Foster  girl  owned 
a  part  of  this  one,  I  said,  like  the  wise  guy  I  thought 
I  was,  'Ha,  ha,'  I  said,  'so  Miss  Foster  owns  a 
third?  That's  it,  eh?'  And  now  it's  Minnie 
Arkell  a  third.  Where  does  Withrow  come  in? 
And  did  you  hear  her  when  she  invited  Maurice  to 
the  time  they're  going  to  have  on  that  same  steam- 
yacht  to-morrow  night  ? — that  was  when  she  whis 
pered  to  him  at  the  gangway,  when  we  were  leav 
ing.  She  tried  to  get  him  to  promise  to  come,  and 
at  last  he  said  he  would  if  he  was  in  the  harbor. 
'Then  be  sure  to  be  in  the  harbor — you're  skipper 
and  can  do  as  you  please.  Do  come/  she  said  at 
the  last,  good  and  loud,  'and  tell  them  how  to  sail  a 
vessel  in  heavy  weather.  They  only  play  at  it,  so 
do  come  and  tell  them.'  And  then  in  a  low 
voice — 'But  I  want  you  to  come  for  yourself.' 

170 


Minnie  Arkell  Again 

That's  what  she  says — Tor  yourself,'  she  says — in 
a  whisper  almost.  'Take  a  run  into  the  harbor  to 
morrow  night  if  you  can,  Maurice,'  she  says.  O 
Lord,  women — women — they  don't  know  a  thing 
^-no,"  and  Clancy  turned  in. 


XX 

THE  SKIPPER  PUTS  FOR  HOME 

WE  were  out  of  Newport  Harbor  before  day 
break  of  next  morning,  and  cruised  inside 
Block  Island  all  that  day.  We  all  thought  the 
skipper  would  be  in  to  Newport  that  night — it 
was  no  more  than  a  two  hours'  run  the  way  the 
wind  was — and  we  waited. 

The  test  came  after  supper.  We  had  supper  as 
usual,  at  three  o'clock.  Breakfast  at  four,  dinner 
at  ten,  supper  at  three — mug-ups  before  and  after 
and  in  between.  Along  about  four  o'clock  the 
skipper,  standing  on  the  break,  stood  looking  back 
toward  where  Newport  lay.  Had  we  turned  then 
we'd  have  been  in  nicely  by  dark.  It  was  a  fine 
afternoon — the  finest  kind  of  an  afternoon — a  clear 
blue  sky,  and  a  smooth  blue  sea  with  the  surface 
just  rippling  beautifully.  All  fire  was  the  sun  and 
the  sails  of  every  vessel  in  sight  looked  white  as 
could  be.  Several  yachts  passed  us — steam  and  sail 
— all  bright  and  handsome  and  all  bound  into  New 
port,  and  the  skipper's  eyes  rested  long  on  them— 
on  one  of  them  particularly  with  music  aboard. 

,172 


The  Skipper  Puts  For  Home 

The  skipper  looked  back  a  long  time — looked 
back,  and  looked  back.  He  began  walking  the 
quarter — back  and  forth,  back  and  forth,  back  and 
forth.  The  sun  got  lower  and  lower,  the  sea  lost 
some  of  its  blue,  and  the  air  grew  fresher,  and  still 
he  kept  looking  back. 

"It'll  be  a  grand  sunset  to-night,  Tommie." 
"The  finest  kind.     But  one  thing  wrong  with 


it" 


"What's  that?" 

"We're  not  seeing  it  astern  of  us." 

The  skipper  stopped.  "Astern?  That's  so,  too 
— it  is  a  fine  westerly,  isn't  it?" 

Clancy  said  nothing,  only  leaned  against  the  rig 
ging,  not  a  move  out  of  him — puffing  his  pipe  and 
looking  away. 

Nobody  spoke  till  the  skipper  spoke  again. 

"Who's  to  the  wheel — you,  Steve?  How's  she 
heading  now?' 

"No'the  by  west." 

"No'the  by  west?  Put  her  east  by  no'the — ease 
off  your  mainsheet.  Let  it  go  to  the  knot.  Call 
the  gang  and  make  sail — stays'l  and  balloon — - 
everything — we'll  go  home,  I  guess." 

Clancy  snapped  the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and 
hove  it  over  the  rail.  Then  he  went  for  the  fore- 
c's'le  gangway.  In  two  jumps  he  was  there. 

"Up,  you  loafers — on  deck  and  make  sail.  To 
173, 


The  Seiners 

the  eastward,'  says  the  skipper,  and  over  the  shoals 
we'll  put  her  to-night." 

"Home !  Home — good  enough — and  hurroo  I" 
we  could  hear  from  below. 

The  skipper  said  nothing  more — only  all  night 
long  he  walked  the  quarter. 

Next  day  when  we  were  almost  abreast  of  Cape 
Cod  Clancy  began  to  instruct  me.  "Here's  a  tip 
for  any  girl  friends  you  got,  Joe.  See  the  skipper 
last  night?  Tell  them  if  they're  after  a  man — a 
real  man — even  if  he's  a  bit  shy — tell  them — " 
Oh,  the  advice  that  Clancy  could  give ! 

About  the  time  that  we  left  Cape  Cod  light 
astern  and  squared  away  for  Thatcher's — with 
Gloucester  Harbor  almost  in  sight — with  the  rocks 
of  Eastern  Point  dead  ahead — Clancy  began  to 
sing  again : 

"  Oh,  a  deep  blue  sky  and  a  deep  blue  sea 
And  a  blue-eyed  girl  awaiting  me — 
Too-roo-roo  and  a  too-roo-ree — 
Who  wouldn't  a  Gloucester  seiner  be  ? 

Ha,  Joey-boy?"  and  gave  me  a  slap  on  the  shoul 
der  that  sent  me  half-way  to  the  break. 

That  was  all  right,  but  I  went  aloft  so  I  could 
see  the  rocks  of  Cape  Ann  a  mite  sooner,  I  was 
just  beginning  to  discover  that  I  had  been  almost 
homesick. 

174 


XXI 


SEINERS'  WORK 


WE  were  high  line  of  the  seining  fleet  when 
we  got  home  from  the  Southern  cruise  and 
we  felt  pretty  proud  of  ourselves.  It  was  some 
thing  to  stand  on  the  corner  on  one  of  the  days 
when  the  Johnnie  was  fitting  out  again,  and  have 
other  fellows  come  up  to  you  and  say,  "What's 
that  they  say  you  fellows  shared  on  the  Southern 
trip?"  And  when  we'd  tell  them,  and  we  trying 
not  to  throw  out  our  chests  too  much,  it  was  fine 
to  hear  them  say,  "That  so?  Lord,  but  that's 
great.  Well,  if  Maurice  only  holds  out  he'll  make 
a  great  season  of  it,  won't  he?" 

"Oh,  he'll  hold  out,"  we'd  say,  and  lead  the  way 
down  to  the  Anchorage  or  some  other  place  for  a 
drink  or  a  cigar,  for  of  course,  with  the  money 
we'd  made,  we  naturally  felt  like  spending  some 
of  it  on  those  who  were  not  doing  so  well.  And  of 
course,  too,  no  seiner  could  ever  resist  anybody  who 
talks  to  him  in  a  nice  friendly  way  like  that. 

The  skipper's  doings  ashore  interested  all  of  his 
crew,  of  course,  although  me,  perhaps,  more  than 


The  Seiners 

anybody  else,  unless  it  was  Clancy.  I  got  pretty 
regular  bulletins  from  my  cousin  Nell.  She  was 
for  the  skipper,  first,  last  and  all  the  time. 

"I  like  him/'  she  said  to  me  more  than  a  dozen 
times.  "I  do  like  him,  but  I  never  imagined  that 
a  man  who  does  so  well  at  sea  could  shrink  into 
himself  as  he  does.  Why,  you  almost  have  to  haul 
him  out  by  the  ears  ashore.  If  it  weren't  for  me  I 
really  believe — "  and  she  stopped. 

But  I  thought  I  understood  what  she  meant. 
"Meaning  your  chum,  Alice  Foster?"  I  said. 

"Yes,  meaning  my  chum,  Alice  Foster.    Why?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Sometimes  I  think  she's  a 
kind  of  a  frost." 

"No,  she  isn't  a  frost,  and  don't  you  come 
around  here  again  and  tell  me  so." 

Nor  did  I,  for  I  would  not  have  an  argument 
with  Nell  for  all  the  Alice  Fosters  in  the  world, 
for  if  Nell  were  anybody  else  but  my  first  cousin, 
I  think  I  would  have  fallen  in  love  with  her  myself. 

And  then  we  put  out  to  sea  and  again  we  were 
living  the  life  of  seiners,  having  it  hard  and  easy  in 
streaks.  There  were  the  times  when  we  went  along 
for  a  week  and  did  not  do  a  tap  but  eat,  sleep, 
stand  a  trick  at  the  wheel,  a  watch  to  the  mast 
head,  and  skylark  around  the  deck,  and  read,  or 
have  a  quiet  game  of  draw  or  whist  or  seven-up 
below.  But  again  there  were  times  when  we  were 

176 


Seiner's  Work 

on  fish,  and  our  skipper  being  a  driver,  it  was 
jump,  jump,  jump  for  a  week  on  end.  There  was 
that  time  in  August  when  the  fish  were  so  plentiful 
on  Georges  Bank,  when,  standing  to  the  mast 
head,  you  could  see  nothing  but  mackerel  schooling 
for  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  either  side  of  the  vessel. 
But,  oh,  they  were  wild!  A  dozen  times  we'd 
heave  the  seine — put  off  from  the  vessel,  put  out 
that  two  hundred  and  odd  fathom  of  twine,  drive 
seine-boat  and  dory  to  the  limit,  purse  in — and 
not  so  much  as  a  single  mackerel  caught  by  the 
gills.  That  happened  fifteen  or  twenty  times  some 
days,  maybe.  We  got  our  fill  of  sets  that  month. 
But  then  again  there  was  a  week  off  Cape  Cod  and 
in  the  Bay  of  Fundy  and  off  the  Maine  coast  when 
we  ran  them  fresh  to  Boston  market,  when  we 
landed  more  mackerel  it  was  said  in  a  single  week 
than  was  ever  landed  before  by  one  vessel.  We 
were  five  days  and  five  nights  that  time  without  see 
ing  our  bunks.  It  was  forever  out  and  after  them, 
heave  the  seine,  purse  up  and  bail  in,  ice  some,  and 
dress  the  rest  along  the  way,  and  the  vessel  with 
everything  on  driving  for  Boston. 

We  stood  to  it  that  week,  you  may  be  sure,  until 
coming  on  the  fifth  day  some  of  us  fell  asleep  over 
the  keelers  as  the  Johnnie  was  coming  into  T 
Wharf.  I  remember  that  I  could  just  barely  see 
in  a  kind  of  a  hazy  way  the  row  of  people  along  the 

177 


The  Seiners 

cap-log  when  we  made  fast.  And  yet  after  that 
we  had  to  hoist  them  out  of  the  hold  and  onto  the 
dock.  That  day,  going  out  again,  the  skipper 
made  all  but  the  watch  and  himself  turn  in.  That 
afternoon,  when  everybody  had  had  a  little  kink, 
the  skipper  himself,  who  had  been  under  a  heavier 
strain  than  any  of  us,  suddenly  fell  backward  over 
the  house  and  sound  asleep.  And  there  he  lay  all 
the  rest  of  that  day  and  that  night. 

After  ten  or  twelve  hours  of  it  we  tried  to  wake 
him,  but  not  a  budge.  We  tried  again,  but  no  use. 
At  last  he  came  to  and  without  any  help  at  all. 
Sitting  up,  he  asked  where  we  were,  and  being  told, 
he  said  nothing  for  a  moment  or  so,  and  then  sud 
denly — "That  so  ?  How  long  was  I  asleep  ?"  We 
told  him — seventeen  hours.  "Good  Lord!"  he 
groaned,  and  after  a  mug-up  scooted  for  the  mast 
head  like  a  factory  hand  with  the  seven  o'clock 
whistle  blowing.  "He's  a  fisherman,  the  skipper," 
said  the  gang  as  they  watched  him  climb  the 
rigging. 

And  he  was  a  fisherman.  All  that  summer  he 
drove  things  with  but  little  time  for  us  ashore. 
Twice  he  put  into  Gloucester  with  a  day  to  our 
selves  and  another  time  we  had  a  chance  to  run 
down  after  we  had  put  into  Boston  for  market, 
and  that  we  suspected  was  because  the  skipper 
found  he  could  not  keep  away  himself  any  longer. 


Seiner's  Work 

Things,  we  judged,  were  going  pretty  well  with 
him  in  Gloucester.  He  did  not  pretertd  any  longer 
now  that  he  was  not  interested  in  Miss  Foster,  and 
from  my  cousin  Nell  I  got  occasional  hints,  most 
of  which  I  confided  to  Clancy,  who  explained  them 
as  if  they  were  so  many  parables. 

"It'll  be  all  right,"  said  Clancy,  "if  only  Minnie 
Arkell  stands  clear.  I'm  glad  she's  away  for  the 
summer,  but  she'll  turn  up  in  the  fall.  You'll  see 
her  just  before  the  race  large  as  life,  and  some  of 
her  swell-dressed  friends,  and  a  yacht,  I'll  bet." 

Considering  how  deeply  the  skipper  was  inter 
ested  in  Miss  Foster,  some  of  us  thought  he  ought 
to  be  putting  in  a  little  time  ashore  between  trips. 
After  a  run  into  the  Boston  fresh  fish  market,  say, 
we  would  have  liked  mighty  well  to  take  in  the 
theatre,  or  a  trip  to  the  beach,  or  some  other  little 
entertainment  of  a  night.  But  no,  it  was  in  and 
out — drive,  drive,  drive. 

He  was  all  ambition,  the  skipper.  He  was  go 
ing  to  be  up  front  or  break  something.  Miss  Fos 
ter  was  one  of  the  ambitious  kind,  too.  If  she  was 
going  to  have  a  fisherman,  he  would  have  to  be  a 
killer  or  she  would  know  why.  And  so  I  suppose 
that  had  a  lot  to  do  with  the  way  the  skipper  drove 
things. 

We  had  our  loafing  spells,  as  I  say,  but  mostly 
it  was  plenty  of  work.  That  time  when  we  stayed 

179 


The  Seiners 

awake  for  five  days  and  nights  was  not  the  only 
one.  Another  time  our  legs  swelled  up  and  the 
blood  came  out  of  the  ends  of  our  fingers  with 
standing  up  to  the  keelers  and  dressing  fish  without 
rest.  But,  Lord,  nobody  minded  that.  After  we'd 
got  rested  up  we  felt  better  than  ever. 

We  had  good  luck  generally.  We  lost  neither 
men  nor  gear  to  amount  to  anything  that  summer. 
That  seine  we  lost  trying  for  our  first  school  to  the 
s'uth'ard  in  the  spring  was  the  only  bit  of  misfor 
tune  that  came,  and  we  had  long  ago  made  up  for 
that.  But  others  were  not  so  lucky.  There  was 
the  loss  of  the  Ruth  Ripley,  Pitt  Ripley's  vessel.  I 
think  I  have  said  that  she  was  a  fast  vessel.  She 
was  fast — fast,  but  of  the  cranky  type.  We  were 
jogging  along  a  little  to  windward  of  her  one  fine 
afternoon — it  had  been  a  fine  September  day  and 
now  it  was  coming  on  to  evening.  To  the  westward 
of  Cape  Sable,  in  the  Bay  of  Fundy,  it  was,  and  no 
hint  of  a  blow  up  to  within  a  few  minutes  of  the 
time  when  the  squall  struck  the  Ruth.  I  suppose 
it  would  have  been  more  prudent  on  Pitt's  part  if 
he  had  had  less  sail  on,  but  like  most  of  the  skip 
pers  in  the  fleet  I  guess  he  was  not  looking  for 
any  record  for  prudence.  Any  minute  he  might 
have  to  be  up  and  driving  her,  and  keeping  sail  on 
was  the  quickest  way  to  have  it  when  you  needed  it 
in  a  hurry.  The  squall  hit  her — it  hit  us,  too,  but 

180 


Seiner's  Work 

we  saw  it  coming  and  met  it  and  beyond  washing 
a  few  keelers  overboard,  when  she  rolled  down,  no 
harm  was  done  to  the  Johnnie.  On  the  Ripley,  I 
suppose,  they  saw  it  too,  but  the  Ripley  and 
the  Duncan  were  not  the  same  class  of  vessel 
by  any  means.  She  went  over  —  hove  down, 
with  her  foremast  under  water  to  the  cross-trees 
almost. 

Most  of  her  crew  were  below  at  the  time,  some 
in  their  bunks.  Four  or  five  of  those  below  never 
reached  the  deck  at  all — the  water  rushing  down 
the  companionways  cut  them  off.  Some  rushed 
aft  where  the  stern  was  high  out  of  water  and  some 
piled  into  the  rigging.  Some  were  calling  out  and 
giving  advice  to  others.  We  could  hear  them 
plainly.  Two  jumped  to  the  wheel  and  threw  it  up, 
but  she  would  not  right. 

We  had  the  Johnnie  to  keep  right  side  up,  but 
we  saw  the  whole  thing.  It  could  not  have  been 
more  than  two  or  three  minutes  from  the  time  the 
squall  struck  her  when  she  was  going  down  head 
first.  Those  of  her  crew  who  had  gone  to  the 
stern  were  going  with  her,  but  those  who  had  taken 
to  the  rigging,  by  leaping  wide  came  clear.  Their 
seine-boat,  which  had  been  towing  astern,  might 
have  been  of  use  to  them,  but  being  fast  to  the  ves 
sel  by  the  painter  it  was  pretty  well  filled  with  water 
before  anybody  had  a  chance  to  cut  the  painter. 

181 


The  Seiners 

The  man  that  cut  it  went  down  with  the  vessel.  He 
was  all  right,  whoever  he  was.  Those  in  the  water 
were  looking  about  for  the  dory,  and  found  that 
half  full  of  water,  too.  They  were  trying  to  bail 
the  water  out  of  the  dory,  after  hauling  it  across 
the  bow  of  the  submerged  seine-boat,  when  we  got 
them  in  our  seine-boat  and  picked  up  what  was  left 
of  them. 

Nine  of  them  were  lost,  her  skipper  among 
them.  One  of  the  men  saved — the  cook — said  that 
when  the  squall  struck  the  vessel,  Captain  Ripley 
had  been  seen  to  jump  for  the  boom  tackle,  which 
he  unhitched,  and  then  to  spring  for  the  lashings 
of  the  dory,  which  he  cut  with  his  knife.  The 
cook  also  said  that  he  thought  the  skipper  lost  his 
life  because  of  the  half-stunning  blow  that  he  must 
have  received  from  the  fore-boom  while  he  was  on 
the  rail  trying  to  free  the  dory.  The  vessel  was 
sinking  all  the  time  and  it  being  dark — or  near  it 
in  the  squall — I  suppose  Captain  Ripley  could  not 
watch  everything.  No  doubt,  it  was  the  fore- 
boom  hit  him  and  knocked  him  overboard.  Cer 
tainly  he  was  knocked  overboard,  and  the  last  seen 
of  him  he  was  swimming  and  pushing  an  empty 
barrel  before  him  to  one  of  the  crew.  "Keep 
your  nerve  up,"  he  called  to  the  cook,  and  after 
that  he  suddenly  disappeared.  He  got  a  man's 
death,  anyway. 

182 


Seiner's  Work 

We  rowed  back  to  the  Duncan  with  the  sur 
vivors.  Nine  men  gone — it  was  a  hard  story  to 
take  home  with  us,  but  we  had  it  to  do.  It  was  all 
a  part  of  fishing  life,  and  so  we  put  back  for 
Gloucester. 


183 


XXII 

ON  THE   CAPE   SHORE 

WHILE  we  were  into  Gloucester,  after  tak 
ing  home  the  crew  of  the  Ruth  Ripley, 
our  vessel  was  put  on  the  ways.  That  was  after 
a  talk  between  the  skipper  and  Mr.  Duncan. 
There  is  always  something  that  needs  attend 
ing  to  on  a  fisherman,  and  this  time  it  was  our 
water-tanks.  And  while  they  were  being  looked 
after,  the  Johnnie  was  overhauled,  her  bottom 
scrubbed  and  topsides  painted.  Old  Mr.  Duncan, 
we  found,  was  beginning  to  take  a  lot  of  pride  in 
our  vessel  and  balked  at  no  expense  to  have  her  in 
trim.  And  now  that  the  Ripley  was  lost,  he  would 
have  only  two  vessels  to  represent  him  in  the  big 
fishermen's  race,  which  was  then  only  four  weeks 
away. 

"Hurry  up  home  now,"  he  said  to  Maurice  as 
we  left  the  dock  that  time.  "Hurry  up,  and  give 
yourself  plenty  of  time  to  tune  her  up  and  get  her 
in  trim  for  the  race.  I've  set  my  heart  on  it.  You 
or  the  Lucy  Foster  must  win  that  race,  and  what 
ever  else  we  do  we've  got  to  beat  Withrow's  ves 
sel,  anyway." 

184 


On  the  Cape  Shore 

And  Miss  Foster  said  that  one  of  her  guardian's 
vessels  would  have  to  win  the  race,  and  my  cousin 
Nell  said  that  the  Johnnie  Duncan  would  have  to 
win.  There  was  a  lot  depending  on  it,  she  said. 
It  meant  a  lot  to  Will  Somers,  I  suppose  Nell 
meant. 

We  figured  that  we  had  time  to  make  a  Cape 
shore  trip,  and,  with  fair  luck,  to  fill  the  Johnnie 
with  salt  mackerel  and  be  back  in  time  to  get  her 
in  good  condition  for  the  race,  which  this  year,  be 
cause  it  was  anniversary  year  in  Gloucester,  prom 
ised  to  be  the  greatest  ever  sailed. 

Our  plans  were  somewhat  interfered  with  by  a 
rescue  we  made.  We  found  a  Glasgow  bark,  New 
York  bound,  in  the  Bay  of  Fundy,  and  her  crew  in 
hard  straits.  We  stood  down  and  after  a  lot  of 
trouble  took  them  off — Clancy  and  Long  Steve  in 
the  dory.  Billie  Hurd  came  near  being  the  second 
man  in  the  dory,  but  Clancy,  grabbing  him  as  he 
had  one  foot  over  the  rail,  hauled  him  back  with, 
"Way  for  your  elders,  little  man,"  and  jumped  in 
beside  Long  Steve. 

"Elders,  but  not  betters,"  said  Hurd. 
,     "Have  it  your  own  way,"   answered   Clancy, 
"but  I  go  in  the  dory." 

The  rescue  was  really  a  fine  thing,  but  the  im 
portant  thing  was  that  some  of  the  rescued  men 
had  been  exposed  to  the  battering  of  the  sea  so 

185 


The  Seiners 

long  that  they  needed  medical  attention,  and  so 
we  drove  for  home — and  cracked  our  foremast- 
head  doing  it.  That  delayed  us  almost  a  week,  for 
the  skipper  had  to  have  that  spar  just  so.  A  lot 
might  depend  on  it,  same  as  the  rest  of  the  gear. 
And  it  was  a  spar — as  fine  a  bit  of  timber,  Oregon 
pine  of  course,  as  was  ever  set  up  in  a  fisherman. 
And  maybe  that  too  was  just  as  well,  with  the  race 
coming  on. 

By  the  time  we  were  down  the  Cape  shore — 
down  Canso  way — and  among  the  fleet  again,  we 
had  lost  a  week.  Our  hold  was  still  to  fill  up,  and 
only  two  weeks  and  a  day  to  the  race.  Wesley 
Marrs,  Tom  O'Donnell,  Sam  Hollis,  and  the  rest 
were  then  talking  of  going  home  and  making 
ready  for  the  race.  Bottoms  would  have  to  be 
scrubbed,  extra  gear  put  ashore — a  whole  lot  of 
things  done — and  a  few  try-outs  in  the  Bay  by  way 
of  tuning  up. 

The  race  was  the  talk  of  all  the  fleet.  Half  the 
crews  on  the  Cape  shore  wanted  to  be  in  Glouces 
ter  when  the  race  came  off,  and  some  of  the  skip 
pers  of  the  slower  vessels,  which  would  not  enter 
because  they  had  no  show  to  win,  were  already 
scheming  to  be  home  just  before  the  race  so  that 
they  could  be  on  hand  to  follow  it. 

The  morning  after  we  were  back  among  the 
fleet  we  got  a  small  school  right  from  under  the, 

186 


On  the  Cape  Shore 

eyes  of  the  Lynx,  one  of  the  English  cutters  which 
were  patrolling  the  coast  to  see  that  we  didn't  get 
any  fish  within  the  three-mile  limit.  I  remember 
that  while  we  were  satisfied  at  the  time  that  we 
were  outside  the  line,  we  did  not  know  what  the 
revenue-cutter  might  say,  and  particularly  the 
Lynx,  whose  captain  had  a  hard  name  among  our 
fleet  for  his  readiness  to  suspect  law-breaking  when 
there  wasn't  any.  The  cutter  people  generally 
seemed  to  want  to  be  fair  toward  us,  but  this 
Lynx's  captain  was  certainly  a  vindictive  cuss. 
Anything  hailing  from  Gloucester  was  an  abomina 
tion  in  his  eyes.  And  so  this  morning,  when,  after 
we  had  decided  that  we  were  outside  the  limit, 
and  made  ready  to  set,  it  was  hard  to  have  to  take 
the  order  of  the  Lynx  and  sheer  off.  Our  judg 
ment  of  distance  ought  to  have  been  as  good  as  his 
— better,  really,  we  thought  it,  because  we  were 
always  judging  distances  at  sea,  and  more  at  home 
upon  the  sea,  too.  But  that  made  no  difference — 
what  the  cutter  people  said  had  to  be  law  for  us. 

So  this  time  he  ordered  us  not  to  set  where  we 
were  or  he'd  seize  our  vessel.  Several  Gloucester 
vessels  had  been  confiscated  just  before  this  and  the 
owners  had  to  pay  the  fine  to  recover  them.  One 
owner  disputed  the  judgment  and  his  case  was  then 
waiting  settlement.  Another  who  refused  to  pay 
saw  his  vessel  turned  into  a  lightship  and  placed 

187 


The  Seiners 

down  Miramichi  way  in  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence, 
where  it  is  yet.  This  day  the  commander  of  the 
Lynx  might  have  some  reason  to  think  that  his 
order  ended  that  for  us — and  we  could  almost  see 
him  chuckling — but  it  didn't.  A  fog  was  creeping 
up  at  the  time  and  in  ten  minutes  it  was  on  us,  and 
under  cover  of  the  fog  we  got  a  little  school — the 
same  school  we  thought  and  on  the  exact  spot 
where  the  cutter  was  lying  when  she  ordered  us  off. 
Didn't  we  cackle  though  when  we  bailed  it  in  ?  Oh, 
no!  It  was  not  much  of  a  school — only  twenty 
barrels — but  it  made  us  all  feel  fine.  Not  alone  did 
we  feel  that  we  had  got  the  better  of  the  English 
cutter,  but  also  that  luck  was  coming  to  us  again. 
We  justified  ourselves  by  saying  that  we  honestly 
believed  we  were  outside  the  three-mile  limit,  and 
that  our  judgment  was  as  good  as  theirs. 

That  night  the  forec's'le  of  the  Johnnie  Duncan 
presented  one  of  the  most  beatific  scenes  I  ever  saw. 
Everybody  was  in  the  temper  of  an  angel.  There 
was  nothing  doing — no  whist  at  the  table,  no  read 
ing  out  of  upper  bunks,  no  love  song  from  the 
peak,  and  no  fierce  argument  on  the  lockers.  We 
were  discussing  the  cutters  and  the  talk  was  very 
soothing.  The  cook,  as  usual,  was  finishing  up  a 
batch  of  dough.  You  might  have  thought  he  was 
the  only  man  who  had  been  working  in  a  week, 
were  it  not  for  the  wet  oil-clothes  hanging  up  to 

188 


On  the  Cape  Shore 

dry,  and  the  overhauling  of  second  suits  of  oil- 
clothes  by  some  of  the  gang.  Every  man,  except 
the  cook,  who  never  smoked  while  at  work,  was 
puffing  away  as  if  he  misdoubted  he  would  ever 
get  another  chance  for  a  pipeful  in  his  life.  "Har 
mony  most  ex-quis-ite,"  said  somebody,  and  that's 
what  must  have  been  that  hung  over  the  forec's'le, 
and  it  seemed  to  be  merely  in  keeping  with  the 
heavenly  order  of  things  that  the  atmosphere 
showed  pale  blue  wherever  the  rays  of  the  lamp 
could  get  a  chance  to  strike  through. 

When  Clancy  dropped  down  for  his  usual  mug- 
up  before  going  to  the  mast-head  for  the  night  of 
course,  he  wasn't  going  to  let  that  get  by  without 
having  a  word  to  say  about  it.  He  leaned  against 
the  foremast  and  took  a  look  around.  "My  soul, 
but  it's  as  if  the  blessed  angels  were  fanning  their 
wings  over  this  forehold.  There's  Brian  Boru 
and  Lord  Salisbury  there  double-banked  on  the 
same  locker,  and  nothing  doing  on  any  Irish  ques 
tion.  There's  the  lad  that  sleeps  in  the  peak  and 
not  a  single  hallelujah  of  praise  for  his  darling 
Lucille.  The  other  one — the  wild  man  that  sings 
the  Bobbie  Burns  songs — not  a  shriek  out  of  him. 
And  Bill  and  John  no  longer  spoiling  their  eye 
sight  on  bad  print.  I  expect  it's  that  little  school 
of  fish — the  first  in  two  weeks  or  more.  The  pros 
pect  must  be  making  you  all  pleased.  Well,  it 

189 


The  Seiners 

ought.  A  few  hundred  barrels  of  that  kind  of 
mackerel — as  fine  fish  as  ever  I  see  bailed  over  the 
rail.  And  some  of  you  ready  reckoners  ought  to 
easily  figure  up  what'll  be  coming  to  us  if  we  ever 
fill  her  up — say  five  hundred  barrels.  A  good 
thing — a  few  hundred  barrels  of  mackerel.  A  few 
too  many  of  'em  for  good  trim,  but  it's  comfort 
ing  to  know  they're  there.  She  seemed  to  be  in 
pretty  nice  trim  when  we  tried  out  one  or  two  of 
the  fleet  this  morning,  didn't  she  ?  And  to-night,  if 
it  breezes  up — and  it  looks  now  as  if  it  will — we'll 
get  some  more — if  it's  a  night  like  last  night.  One 
time  there  last  night — did  you  notice  her,  cook  ? — 
that  time  that  crazy  lad  started  to  cross  our  bow 
and  we  luffed  her.  Why,  man,  she  shot  over  like 
I  don't  know  what — just  shot  like  one  of  those 
torpedo  boats  we  see  around  when  the  Navy  goes 
evoluting.  I  was  near  shook  overboard  from  aloft. 
They  tell  me  they're  going  crazy  over  the  race  in 
Gloucester.  Well,  here's  one  that'll  bet  his  sum 
mer's  earnings " 

"What's  left  of  it,  you  mean,  Tommie,"  said 
George  Moore  from  his  pan  of  dough. 

"Well,  yes,  what's  left  of  it — and  what  I  c'n 
borrow.  Old  man  Duncan'll  stake  me,  and  there's 
others.  I  hope,  though,  it  blows  a  jeesly  gale.  For 
this  one,  God  bless  her,  she  c'n  sail,  and  some  of 
them'll  find  it  out — when  it's  too  late,  maybe.  Sam 

190 


On  the  Cape  Shore 

Hollis  for  one.  There's  a  man  I'd  give  my  eye 
almost,  to  beat.  And  maybe  the  skipper  hasn't 
got  it  in  for  him !  He  doesn't  say  much,  Maurice 
don't,  but  a  while  ago,  after  coming  down 
from  aloft,  Billie  Simms  hails  him  and  tells  him 
that  the  cutter  people  know  all  about  that  little 
school  to-day — and  who  told  him,  who  told  him? 
Well,  the  skipper'll  drive  this  one  to  the  bot 
tom  before  he  ever  lets  Sam  Hollis  or  any  of 
Withrow's  vessels  get  by  him  when  we  race.  Yes, 
sir.  But,  Georgie-boy" — Clancy  shouldered  away 
from  the  foremast — "how  is  it  for  a  wedge  or  two 
of  one  of  those  blueberry  pies  you  got  cooling 
there?  Just  a  little  wedge,  now.  But  you  don't 
need  to  be  too  close-hauled  with  your  knife — 
no.  Sailing  by  the  wind  is  all  right  when  you're 
jogging  in  and  out  among  the  fleet,  and  nothing 
partic'lar  doing  except  an  eye  out  for  mackerel, 
but  you  want  to  give  her  a  full  always — always, 
Georgie — when  you're  cutting  pie.  There's  the 
lad — straight  across  the  beam.  And  now  at  right 
angles  again.  And  now  lay  one  atop  of  the  other, 
and  you  have  it — an  invention  of  my  own — a 
blueberry  sandwich.  M-m — but  look  at  the  juice 
squish  through  her  scuppers!"  He  held  it  up 
for  all  of  us  to  have  a  look.  "Now  another  little 
wash  of  coffee  in  the  wake  of  that  and  I'll  be  all 
right  for  a  fine  little  watch  aloft." 

191 


The  Seiners 

He  jammed  his  sou'wester  hard  down,  and 
heroically  waved  away  the  remainder  of  the  pie. 
"No,  no.  First  thing  I  know  I'll  be  having  dys 
pepsia.  I  never  had  it  yet,  but  I  might,"  and  then 
heaved  himself  up  the  companionway,  humming, 
as  he  went,  one  of  his  old  favorites : 

"  Oh,  the  'Liza  Jane  and  the  Maria  Louise 
Sailed  a  race  one  day  for  a  peck  of  peas. 
You'd  hardly  believe  the  way  them  two 
Carried  sail  that  day — they  fairly  flew. 

People  ashore  they  said,  '  Gee  whiz! 
The  'Liza  Jane  the  fastest  is.'  " 

We  could  hear  him  scrambling,  still  humming, 
over  the  barrels  on  deck.  He  halted  long  enough 
by  the  rail  to  say,  "How  is  it,  boys?"  to  the  watch 
on  deck,  and  then  swung  himself  up  the  rigging. 
Once  aloft  he  had  his  work  cut  out,  with  hours  of 
strain  on  brain  and  nerve.  But  Clancy  never 
minded — he  never  minded  anything  so  far  as  we 
could  make  out. 


XXIII 

DRESSING   DOWN 

THAT  night  was  the  worst  I  ever  put  in  towing 
astern  of  a  vessel.  "Owling"  is  the  sein 
ers'  word  for  that  kind  of  work.  It  was  "owling" 
sure  enough,  with  the  seine-boat  on  a  short  painter 
and  the  dory  on  a  shorter  painter  still  and  astern 
of  the  seine-boat  again.  We  came  near  to  being 
lost  in  the  dory.  Mel  Adams,  who  was  in  the  dory 
with  me,  thinking  she  was  surely  going  to  capsize 
one  time  she  rode  up  over  the  stern  of  the  seine- 
boat,  took  a  flying  leap  into  the  seine-boat.  He 
had  a  hard  time  getting  back,  for  there  was  quite 
a  little  sea  on.  Even  in  the  seine-boat  they  were 
all  glad  enough  to  hear  Clancy  give  the  word  to 
cast  off  and  pull  after  the  school. 

It  was  a  big  school,  and  hard  work  in  that  sea, 
but  we  had  them  safe  at  last.  The  vessel  then  came 
alongside  and  the  bailing  in  began.  Having  had 
a  good  long  lay-off  we  bailed  them  in  with  plenty 
of  good-will.  It  was  "He-yew!"  "Oy-hool" 
"Hi-o!"  and  "Drive  her!"  all  along  the  line  until 
we  had  on  deck  what  the  skipper  thought  was  a 
hundred  barrels.  Then  the  bag  was  put  around 

193 


The  Seiners 

the  seine  to  protect  the  rest  of  the  mackerel  from 
dogfish  and  sharks,  and  we  were  ready  to  dress. 

Barrels  were  tossed  out  of  the  hold,  keelers  set 
up,  sharp-edged  knives  drawn  from  diddy-boxes 
below,  and  a  chance  had  to  see  a  smart  crew  dress 
ing  a  haul  of  mackerel  that  were  to  be  salted.  It 
was  too  long  a  run,  four  hundred  miles  or  so,  to 
take  a  chance  of  getting  them  fresh  to  market.  It 
needed  a  fair  and  fresh  breeze  to  be  sure  of  it,  and 
besides  with  the  market  for  salt  mackerel  getting 
stronger  all  the  time  it  was  good  judgment  to  salt 
down  and  fill  her  up  before  going  home. 

We  had  been  through  the  same  thing  before, 
even  with  as  good  a  deck-load,  but  now  we  were 
getting  near  the  end  of  the  season.  This  trip,  then 
the  race,  and  maybe  one  more  trip  after  the  race, 
and  we  would  be  done  seining.  And  so  we  drove 
things. 

Four  gangs  of  four  men  each  took  corners  in  the 
waist.  Each  gang  had  two  keelers — yard  square 
boxes,  eight  inches  or  so  in  depth,  and  set  up  on 
two  or  three  barrels.  Into  the  keelers  the  mack 
erel  on  deck  were  bailed  and  around  them  the 
men  gathered,  with  long-handled  torches  set  up  all 
about. 

All  hands  came  into  the  dressing — skipper  and 
cook  too — and  the  work  went  on.  It  was  one 
gang  against  the  other,  each  jealously  counting 

194 


Dressing  Down 

barrels  when  they  were  filled,  that  full  credit  might 
be  given  for  speed.  Sixteen  men  were  accounted 
for  in  this  way.  The  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
were  to  keep  the  keelers  filled,  draw  water  for 
pickle  from  over  the  side,  roll  the  filled  barrels  out 
of  the  way — in  short,  to  help  out  generally. 

It  was  fine  to  watch  the  splitters.  One  left- 
handed  grab  and  the  mackerel  was  in  place,  flat 
and  smooth,  one  right-handed  slit  and  he  was  laid 
open  the  length  of  his  back.  Forty-five  mackerel 
a  minute  either  the  skipper,  Clancy  or  Moore  could 
split — that  is,  pick  them  up,  place  in  position,  split 
from  nose  to  tail  along  the  back,  and  slide  out  of 
the  way  again.  Sixty  a  minute  they  could  do  in 
spurts,  if  somebody  would  place  the  mackerel  in 
rows  for  them. 

The  busiest  man  of  all  was  the  skipper.  He  had 
to  keep  an  eye  out  for  the  course  of  the  Johnnie. 
Vessels  that  are  dressing  fish,  vessels  on  which  the 
entire  crew  are  soaked  in  blood,  gills,  intestines,  and 
swashing  brine,  might  be  allowed  privileges,  one 
might  think;  but  no,  they  must  keep  a  lookout 
just  the  same.  On  this  dark  night,  the  Johnnie 
Duncan,  though  making  a  great  effort — consider 
ing  that  she  had  jibs  down  and  wheel  in  the  becket 
— to  stay  as  she  was  put,  yet  would  fall  away  or 
come-to,  especially  when  the  wind  shifted  two  or 
three  points  at  a  jump.  And  just  as  soon  as  she 

195 


The  Seiners 

did  the  skipper  would  notice  it  instantly,  jump  aft 
and  set  her  right.  Generally,  to  shift  the  wheel  a 
few  spokes  would  be  enough,  but  now  and  then  he 
would  have  to  give  the  wheel  a  good  round  whirl. 
At  such  a  time  he  would  sing  out  a  warning,  the 
torches  would  be  lowered,  we  would  duck  our 
heads,  the  boom  would  go  swinging  by  in  the 
smoky  yellow  glare,  and  the  Johnnie  Duncan  would 
be  off  on  another  tack.  We  would  brace  our  legs 
to  a  new  angle,  the  skipper  would  hop  back  to  his 
knife,  and  again  the  dressing  would  go  humming 
along. 

When  we  had  the  first  hundred  barrels  of 
mackerel  swashing  in  brine,  the  rest  of  them,  per 
haps  another  hundred  barrels,  were  bailed  in.  And 
all  night  long  like  that  we  stood  to  it  driving. 
Under  the  yellow  and  smoky  light  of  the  torches 
I  could  see  nothing  but  mackerel  or  the  insides  of 
mackerel  in  the  air.  Keelers,  deck,  rail,  our  hands, 
faces,  boots  and  oilskins  were  sticky  with  the  blood 
and  gurry.  At  top  speed  we  raced  like  that 
through  the  night.  Once  in  a  while  a  man  would 
drop  his  knife  or  snap  off  his  gibbing  mitt,  rinse 
his  hand  in  the  brine  barrel  by  his  side,  slap  his 
hand  across  the  hoops,  and  condemn  the  luck  of  a 
split  finger  or  a  thumb  with  a  fish-bone  in  it.  An 
other  might  pull  up  for  a  moment,  glance  up  at 
the  stars  or  down  at  the  white  froth  under  the 

196 


Dressing  Down 

rail,  draw  his  hand  across  his  forehead,  mutter, 
"My  soul,  but  I'm  dry,"  take  a  full  dipper  from 
the  water-pail,  drink  it  dry,  pass  dipper  and  pail 
along  to  the  next  and  back  to  his  work. 

When  the  cook  called  out  for  breakfast  we  were 
still  at  it,  with  the  deck  of  the  vessel  covered  with 
barrels  of  pickling  mackerel.  It  was  beginning  to 
get  light  then.  "Oh,  the  blessed  day's  coming  on. 
Smother  the  torches,  boys,"  said  the  skipper,  and 
led  the  way  below  for  the  first  table  to  have  a 
bite. 

Before  the  sun  came  up  we  were  beginning  to 
make  out  the  rest  of  the  fleet.  One  after  another 
they  were  coming  into  view,  their  long  hulls  and 
high  spars  reaching  across  the  wind.  Between  the 
gray  sky  and  the  slaty  sea  their  white  sails  looked 
whiter  than  chalk. 

We  had  to  name  the  different  vessels  then. 
"There's  Tom  O'Donnell — and  Wesley  Marrs — 
and  Sam  Hollis — and — "  sung  out  Andie  Howe. 

"Sam  Hollis — where's  Sam  Hollis?"  broke  in 
Mel  Adams. 

"Away  to  the  east'ard,  ain't  it,  Andie? — the 
fellow  with  jibs  down?"  spoke  up  Billie  Hurd,  who 
was  a  bit  proud  that  he  too  could  pick  her  out  at 
such  a  distance. 

"So  it  is,  ain't  it?"  said  Mel,  and  he  began  to 
tell  our  troubles  in  the  dory.  "  'Twas  him  near  ran 

197 


The  Seiners 

over  us  last  night — remember,  Joe?  Leastways,  it 
looked  like  Hollis's  new  one's  quarter  goin'  by. 
He  was  pointin'  'bout  no'the-east  then,  but  he 
couldn't  Ve  held  on  that  tack  long  or  he'd  be  some 
where  up  by  Miquelon  and  not  here  this  mornin* — 
the  gait  he  was  goin'.  Man,  but  there  was  smoke 
coming  out  of  his  scuppers  when  he  went  by. 
Why  don't  y'  come  aboard  whilst  you're  about  it — 
come  aboard  and  be  sociable,'  I  hollers.  'Oh,  don't 
cry,  y'  ain't  hurted,'  says  whoever's  to  the  wheel 
of  her.  Least  it  sounded  like  that,  'Y'  ain't 
hurted,'  he  says." 

"Must  have  been  pretty  close,  Mel?"  said 
Clancy,  never  stopping,  but  keeping  a  string  of  split 
mackerel  rolling  into  his  keeler.  Mel  and  I  were 
gibbing  for  Clancy. 

"Close?  I  could' ve  touched  his  chain-plates  like 
that,"  and  Mel,  getting  excited,  reached  his  mit- 
tened  hand  across  the  keeler  and  touched  Clancy 
on  the  arm.  Clancy's  knife  took  a  jump  and  cut  a 
finger.  For  a  few  seconds  Clancy  laid  down  the 
law  of  a  splitting  knife  to  Mel,  but  Mel  didn't 
mind. 

"That's  just  about  the  way  I  swore  at  the  man 
to  the  wheel  of  the  Withrow.  Didn't  I,  Joe? 
(Yes,  sir,  I  cert'nly  swore  at  him  good,  but  it  no 
more  jarred  him  than — but  when  their  seine-boat 
came  by,  half  of  'em  smokin',  some  half-breed 

198 


Dressing  Down 

among  'em  has  to  sing  out,  'Y'ought  to  hang  up  a 
riding  light  if  your  vessel's  hove-to,'  he  says. 
What  do  you  think  of  that,  Tommie — 'if  your  ves 
sel's  hove-to !' — and  if  the  Johnnie  was  going  one 
she  was  going  ten  knots  an  hour." 

"That's  right,  Mel — I  heard  you  to  the  mast 
head,"  said  Clancy.  Clancy  heard  it  about  as 
much  as  old  Mr.  Duncan  back  in  Gloucester  did, 
but  he  was  always  ready  to  help  a  man  out. 

"Did  you?  Well,  I  hove-to  him.  I  hove  the 
bailer  at  him,  that's  what  I  did,  and  he  ducked. 
But  he  ducked  too  late,  I  callate,  for  'Bam!'  it 
caught  him — or  somebody  in  the  seine-boat  with 
him.  He  swore  some,  or  somebody  swore,  you  c'n 
bet.  'I  don't  know  who  y'are,'  he  hollers,  'but  if 
ever  I  meet  you  ashore,'  and  he  was  so  far  away 
then  I  couldn't  ketch  no  more  of  it.  'Don't  know 
who  y'are,  but  if  I  ketch  you  ashore' — Lord " 

"So,  if  a  lad  with  a  bump  on  the  side  of  his  head 
waltzes  up  to  you  on  Main  Street  and  whangs  you, 
Mel,  next  time  you're  ashore  in  Gloucester,  what'll 
you  do?"  asked  Clancy. 

"I'll  say,  'Where's  that  bailer,  you  loafer?'  but 
first  I'll  whang  him  back.  I  had  to  finish  the  bail 
ing  out  with  my  sou'wester.  I  sings  out  to  Andie 
Howe  in  the  boat  here  to  hand  me  one  of  the 
bailers  in  the  boat.  'I'm  usin'  my  hat,'  I  hollers, 
'and  Joe's  using  his  sou'wester,'  thinkin'  that  would 

199 


The  Seiners 

fetch  him  all  right.  'Well,  we're  usin'  ten  sou'- 
westers  here/  says  Andie,  'and  one  or  two  of  'em 
leaks,'  and  that  was  all  the  satisfaction  I  got." 

"Yes,"  said  Eddie  Parsons,  uthe  seine-boat  was 
sure  wallerin'  then.  The  skipper  had  only  just 
told  Jimmie  Gunn  to  quit  his  growling.  'You'll 
be  wanting  hot-water  bags  to  your  feet  next,  I 
suppose,'  says  the  skipper." 

"I  was  thinking  of  the  boat — afraid  she'd  be 
so  logy  with  the  water  in  her  that  we  couldn't  drive 
her  when  the  time  came,"  bristled  up  Jimmie  Gunn 
to  that. 

"Y-yah!"  snorted  Eddie,  "if  you  weren't  scared, 
then  I  never  saw  a  man  scared.  Logy?  I  notice 
we  made  her  hop  along  all  right  after  we  cast  off 
from  the  vessel.  Man,  but  she  fair  hurdled  some 
of  them  seas — some  of  the  little  ones,  I  mean. 
Didn't  she,  Steve?  We  thought  we'd  lost  Joe  and 
you,  Mel,  in  the  dory,  didn't  we,  fellows?" 

"You  did,  hey?  Well,  you  didn't,  nor  nowheres 
near  it,"  broke  in  Mel.  "We  were  right  there  with 
the  goods  when  they  hove  the  seine,  warn't  we, 
Joey?" 

And  so  it  went  on  through  all  that  day,  while 
the  men  worked,  dressing,  salting,  and  putting  all 
in  pickle.  It  was  a  drive  all  through  without  any 
quitting  by  anybody,  except  when  it  was  time  to 
relieve  lookouts  at  the  masthead.  In  the  middle 

200 


Dressing  Down 

of  it  all,  had  the  call  of  "School-O!"  been  heard 
from  aloft,  we  would  have  been  only  too  glad  to 
drop  everything,  jump  into  the  boat  and  dory,  get 
after  the  mackerel,  and  do  the  same  thing  over — 
split,  gibb  and  pack  away — for  all  of  the  next 
night,  and  the  night  after  that — for  a  week  if 
necessary. 

Not  until  well  into  the  afternoon,  when  the  last 
mackerel  was  flattened  out  in  its  barrel,  did  any  of 
us  feel  that  we  could  step  back  in  our  own  time, 
straighten  ourselves  out,  and  take  a  look  over  our 
work.  Then  we  counted  the  oozing  barrels  with 
great  satisfaction,  you  may  be  sure,  even  while  we 
were  massaging  our  swollen  wrists  with  our  aching 
fingers.  It  was  a  good  bit  of  work  that,  well  and 
quickly  done,  and  it  was  fine  to  get  a  rest  after  it, 
although  it  might  be  only  for  a  little  while.  Even 
though  we  had  to  do  it  all  over  again — to  stay 
half-drowned  and  chilled  through  in  the  seine-boat 
or  dory  for  half  the  night  and  then  dress  down  for 
eighteen  or  twenty  hours  on  top  of  it — what  did 
a  little  hard  work  matter?  "Think  of  the  hundred- 
dollar  bill,  maybe,  to  be  carried  home  and  laid  in 
the  wife's  lap,"  said  Long  Steve. 

"Or  the  roaring  night  ashore  when  a  fellow's 
not  a  family  man — m-m — !"  said  Eddie  Parsons. 
Eddie  was  not  a  family  man. 


201 


* 


XXIV 

THE  WITHROW  OUTSAILS  THE  DUNCAN 

WE  certainly  were  feeling  pretty  good  along 
about  that  time,  and  we  felt  better  when 
next  day,  cruising  in  and  out  among  the  fleet, 
other  crews  began  to  take  notice  of  our  catch.  By 
that  time  the  word  had  gone  around.  One  after 
another  they  came  sailing  up — as  if  to  size  us  up 
was  the  last  thing  that  could  enter  their  heads — 
rounding  to,  and  then  a  hail.  Something  like  this 
it  went: 

"Hulloh,  Maurice." 

"Hulloh,  Wesley,"  or  George  Drake,  or  Al 
McNeill,  or  whoever  it  might  be. 

"That's  a  mighty  pretty  deckload  of  fish. 
When'dy'get  'em?" 

"Oh,  twenty  barrels  yesterday  morning  and  the 
rest  last  night." 

"That  so?    How  many  d'y'call  'em,  Maurice?" 

"How  many?  Oh,  two  hundred  and  eighty  or 
ninety  wash  barrels.  Ought  to  head  up  about  two 
sixty." 

"That  so?  Fine,  Maurice,  fine.  As  handsome 
a  deckload  as  I've  seen  this  year." 

202 


The  Withrow  Outsails  the  Duncan 

And  he  would  bear  off,  and  another  vessel  would 
come  and  go  through  the  same  ceremony.  It  was 
very  satisfying  to  us  and  the  skipper  must  have 
felt  proud.  Not  that  a  lot  bigger  hauls  had  not 
been  made  by  other  men  before — indeed,  yes,  and 
by  the  very  men  perhaps  who  were  complimenting 
him.  But  three  hundred  barrels,  or  near  it,  in 
pickle  at  one  time  does  look  fine  on  a  vessel's  deck, 
and  they  looked  especially  fine  at  this  time  because 
there  was  not  another  vessel  in  the  fleet  that  had 
half  as  many,  so  far  as  we  knew. 

Not  another  but  Sam  Hollis — or  so  he  claimed. 
He  came  ranging  up  that  same  day  and  began  ask 
ing  how  the  Duncan  was  sailing  lately,  and  fol 
lowed  that  up  by  saying  he  himself  had  two  hun 
dred  odd  barrels  in  the  hold.  He  showed  about 
sixty  wash  barrels  on  deck.  We  did  not  believe 
he  had  twenty  below.  She  looked  cork  light. 
"If  she  sets  as  high  out  of  water  with  two  hun 
dred  and  forty  barrels,  then  you  ought  to  put  two 
hundred  and  forty  more  in  her  and  she'd  fly," 
called  out  Clancy  to  Hollis,  and  that  was  pretty 
much  what  we  all  thought. 

And  'twas  Sam  Hollis  made  trouble  for  the 
Duncan  that  day.  He  bore  off  then  but  came  back 
in  the  afternoon.  More  talk  there  was,  and  it 
wound  up  by  our  racing  with  him.  We  did  not 
start  out  to  race,  but  gradually,  as  we  found  our- 

203 


The  Seiners 

selves  jogging  along  side  by  side,  jibs  were  drawn 
away  and  sheets  began  to  be  trimmed.  The  first 
thing  we  knew  we  found  ourselves  swaying  up  sails, 
and  then  before  we  really  woke  up  to  it  we  were 
both  off  and  away  before  a  little  breeze. 

Hollis  had  all  the  best  of  it.  He  was  bound  to, 
with  the  Duncan  carrying  most  of  her  mackerel 
aft  and  away  down  by  the  stern.  Even  had  we  had 
time  to — we  did  shift  some  of  it  forward — we 
were  too  deep  for  any  kind  of  racing  in  that  mod 
erate  breeze.  We  said  that  to  ourselves,  anyway, 
and  yet  we  held  on.  But  it  was  no  use — it  wound 
up  by  Hollis  giving  us  a  scandalous  beating.  And 
after  running  away  from  us  he  kept  straight  on 
to  the  westward,  and  by  that  we  knew  that  he  was 
bound  for  Gloucester  to  get  ready  for  the  big 
race. 

The  skipper  felt  it.  He  was  one  that  took  things 
to  heart. 

"I've  been  bragging  about  this  one — what  she 
could  do.  I  told  the  old  man  only  the  last  time  we 
were  in  that  he  could  go  broke  that  I'd  beat  Sam 
Hollis,  and  here  the  first  time  we  come  together 
he  makes  her  look  like  a  wood-carrier.  The  best 
thing  I  can  do,  I  guess,  is  to  keep  out  of  the  race ; 
maybe  it  will  save  the  old  man  some  money.  I  ex 
pected  he'd  beat  us,  the  trim  we  were  in — but  to 
beat  us  the  way  he  did !" 

,204 


The  Withrow  Outsails  the  Duncan 

Nothing  the  crew  could  say  seemed  to  make  him 
think  otherwise,  and  that  night  it  was  not  nearly 
so  joyful  below  in  the  Johnnie  Duncan.  The  talk 
was  that  she  would  not  go  home  for  the  race.  Only 
Clancy  seemed  to  be  as  cheerful  as  ever.  "Don't 
any  of  you  get  to  worrying/'  he  said.  "I  know  the 
skipper — the  Johnnie  Duncan'll  be  there  when  the 


time  comes." 


Yet  next  morning  when  Wesley  Marrs  went  by 
us  with  the  Lucy  Foster  bound  for  home  and  sang 
out,  "Come  along,  Maurice,  and  get  ready  for  the 
race — we'll  have  a  brush  on  the  way,"  our  skipper 
only  waved  his  hand  and  said,  "No — this  old  plug 
can't  sail."  Wesley  looked  mighty  puzzled  at 
that,  but  kept  on  his  way. 


205; 


XXV 

TROUBLE   WITH  THE  DOMINION   CUTTERS 

NEXT  day  after,  in  a  calm,  Clancy  and  I  had 
to  take  the  dory  and  row  out  among  the 
fleet  for  some  salt.  The  skipper  thought  it  likely 
that  some  of  the  vessels  that  were  going  home 
might  have  salt  to  spare.  He  doubted  if  he  him 
self  would  have  enough  in  case  we  struck  another 
good  school.  So  we  rowed  out.  We  went  from 
one  vessel  to  another  without  any  luck,  until  we 
found  ourselves  aboard  Tom  O'Donnell  —  the 
Colleen  Bawn.  And  just  as  we  got  aboard  a  school 
showed  near  by  her,  and  they  made  a  dash  for  it. 
The  Colleen  was  pretty  well  in-shore  then,  and  yet 
safe  outside  the  three-mile  limit  in  our  judgment. 
Even  in  the  judgment  of  one  of  the  Canadian 
revenue  cutters,  the  Mink,  she  was  outside  the 
limit.  "You're  all  right,  go  ahead,"  her  com 
mander  sang  out  from  the  bridge. 

Yet  trouble  came  of  it.  The  Colleen's  gang 
were  making  a  set  when  along  came  the  Lynx,  the 
same  cutter  that  had  ordered  our  own  skipper  not 
to  set  two  or  three  days  back  in  the  fog,  and  we  had 
set  in  spite  of  him.  I  think  I  said  that  he  had  a 

206 


Trouble  With  the  Dominion  Cutters 

bad  reputation  among  our  fleet.  In  this  case  some 
said  afterwards  that  he  had  been  watching  the 
Duncan  since  that  time,  and  having  seen  a  dory  put 
out  from  her  and  go  aboard  Tom  O'Donnell,  that 
he  then  had  a  special  watch  for  O'Donnell.  Any 
way,  we  know  that  as  the  Colleen  Bawn's  crew 
were  pursing  in  the  seine  he  came  along  and  or 
dered  them  to  cast  loose  the  fish.  "You're  inside 
the  limit,"  said  this  fellow  now. 

"I  may  be,  but  I  don't  think  so,"  said  O'Don 
nell  to  that. 

''You're  inside  and  you  know  it." 
"You're  a  liar  if  you  say  I  know  it." 
O'Donnell  had  had  trouble  with  the  Lynx  be 
fore,   and  had  small  patience  with  her  captain. 
More  words  came  out  of  it,  and  while  they  were 
talking  back  and  forth  another  of  the  fleet  a  mile 
to  the  east'ard  put  out  a  boat. 

The  cutter  went  after  him,  her  captain  singing 
out  as  he  went,  "You  wait  here  till  I  come  back." 
"Wait  like  hell!"  said  O'Donnell,  "and  this  breeze 
making,"  and  continued  to  purse  up.  Pursed  up, 
the  fish  aboard — there  were  forty  or  fifty  barrels — 
he  started  off.  One  of  those  sudden  breezes  were 
springing  up  and  it  promised  to  be  wind  enough 
to  suit  anybody.  We  made  out  the  Johnnie  Dun 
can  bearing  down,  intending  no  doubt  to  take  off 
Clancy  and  me.  But  the  cutter  was  coming  toward 

207 


The  Seiners 

us  then,  and  O'Donnell  said  we  had  better  stay 
aboard  or  we  would  be  picked  up  on  the  way  by 
the  cutter's  people  and  maybe  get  the  Duncan  and 
our  skipper  into  trouble.  That  last — the  thought 
that  our  skipper  or  the  vessel  might  get  mixed  up 
in  it — kept  us  aboard  the  Colleen  Bawn. 

The  Lynx  could  steam  as  fast  as  any  cutter  they 
had  on  the  Cape  shore  at  that  time,  but  the  Col 
leen  was  a  witch  and  O'Donnell  a  wonder  at  sail 
ing  her.  So  we  stayed  with  O'Donnell  and 
watched  him  and  the  cutter  have  it  out.  They  had 
it,  the  cutter  letting  drive  a  shot  every  once  in  a 
while.  The  first  shot,  I  remember,  went  whistling 
by  the  ear  of  one  of  O'Donnell's  crew  who  was 
standing  back-to  in  the  waist,  and  so  astonished 
him,  he  not  expecting  it,  that  he  fell  into  the  fore- 
hold.  He  raised  a  great  racket  among  a  lot  of 
empty  barrels.  The  fall  never  hurt  him,  but 
the  things  he  said  when  he  came  on  deck 
again !  O'Donnell  made  him  lie  flat — and  then  all 
of  us  but  Clancy,  who  refused  to  lie  down  but  com 
promised  by  leaning  over  the  house  and  watching 
the  cutter  and  making  comments  on  her  actions  for 
the  benefit  of  the  rest  of  us.  Through  it  all  O'Don 
nell  stood  to  the  wheel  and  the  nearest  he  came  to 
honoring  the  cutter  by  a  compliment  was  when  he'd 
half  turn  his  head,  spit  over  the  rail  and  swear  at 
her.  The  wind  and  sea-way  together  were  too 

208 


Trouble  With  the  Dominion  Cutters 

much  for  the  cutter.  The  Colleen  left  her  behind, 
and  she  at  last  drew  off  after  bunching  a  few  fare 
well  shots. 

O'Donnell  then  hove-to  and  took  his  seine-boat 
on  deck.  He  had  been  towing  it  the  wrong  end 
foremost  for  the  whole  forty  miles,  and  he  was 
worried  over  it.  "It's  strained  her  maybe — and 
she  almost  a  new  boat,"  he  lamented.  "For  the 
rest  I  don't  care.  That  lad  had  it  in  for  me  all 
along.  The  other  one  though,  he's  decent — never 
bothers  a  man  without  a  little  reason.  I  was  going 
home  anyway  for  the  race,  and  so  it  don't  matter. 
I  suppose  Maurice  will  be  along  soon,  Tommie? 
Did  you  see  him  coming  after  the  cutter — he  held 
her  fine  and  he  in  no  trim.  What's  it  they  say 
about  Hollis  beating  the  Johnnie  yesterday?  If  he 
did,  be  sure  he  was  specially  prepared,  and  the 
Johnnie  had  an  off-day.  But  I  suppose  he'll  be 
holding  on  now  for  Gloucester?" 

Clancy  said  maybe,  but  no  telling,  and  explained 
how  it  had  been — the  skipper's  discouragement 
after  Hollis  had  beaten  him. 

O'Donnell  said  he  was  foolish  to  worry  over  a 
thing  like  that.  "I  know  Sam  Hollis,"  he  said — 
"  'twas  a  trap  he  laid  for  Maurice.  He's  got  a 
smart  vessel  in  the  Withrow,  but  he  can't  run  away 
from  Maurice.  No,  nor  beat  him  I  doubt — with 
both  in  trim.  But  wait  a  while — let  the  day  of  the 

209 


The  Seiners 

race  get  near  and  Maurice  to  thinking  it  over,  and 
you'll  see  him  flyin'  home." 

We  hoped  so.  For  ourselves  we  went  home  on 
the  Colleen.  There  was  nothing  else  for  us  to  do. 
We  had  quite  a  time  of  it  that  trip  with  O'Don- 
nell.  He  sailed  about  five  hundred  miles  out  of 
his  way — away  to  the  eastward  and  s'uth'ard. 
There  might  be  cruisers  and  cutters  galore  after 
him,  he  said — they  might  put  out  from  Halifax, 
or  telegraph  ahead — you  couldn't  tell  what  they 
might  do,  he  said,  and  so  he  sailed  the  Colleen  out 
to  sea.  But  we  came  across  the  Bay  one  dark  night 
without  sidelights,  and  reached  Boston  all  right. 
O'Donnell  had  a  suit  of  sails  stowed  away  in  an 
East  Boston  wharf  that  he  wanted  to  get  out  for 
the  race.  And  also  he  didn't  like  his  new  fore 
mast  and  was  going  to  have  a  new  one  put  in  if 
there  was  time. 


210 


XXVI 

THE  GOSSIP  IN  GLOUCESTER 

CLANCY  and  I  went  home  by  train,  reaching 
Gloucester  as  the  first  of  an  easterly  gale 
set  in.  There  we  found  it  was  nothing  but  talk  of 
the  race.  We  had  not  reached  Main  Street  at  all 
before  Clancy  was  held  up.  Clancy,  of  course, 
would  know.  Where  was  Maurice  Blake  ?  What 
were  we  doing  in  Gloucester  and  the  Johnnie  not 
in  ?  The  Duncans — especially  the  elder  Mr.  Dun 
can — Miss  Foster,  my  cousin  Nell,  and  Will 
Somers  were  boiling  over.  Where  was  Maurice 
Blake  ?  Where  was  the  Johnnie  Duncan  ?  Every 
body  in  town  seemed  to  know  that  Sam  Hollis  had 
given  us  a  bad  beating  down  Cape  shore  way,  and 
the  news  had  a  mighty  discouraging  effect  on  all 
Maurice's  friends,  even  on  those  of  them  who 
knew  enough  of  Sam  Hollis  not  to  take  his  talk 
just  as  he  wanted  them  to  take  it.  Withrow's  ves 
sel  had  beaten  the  Johnnie  Duncan  with  Maurice 
Blake  sailing  her — they  had  to  believe  that  part  of 
it,  and  that  in  itself  was  bad  enough.  Sam  Hol- 
lis's  stock  was  booming,  you  may  be  sure — and  the 
race  right  close  to  hand,  too. 

211 


The  Seiners 

"That  little  beating  the  Johnnie  got  didn't  lose 
any  in  the  telling  by  Sam  Hollis  and  his  gang,  did 
it,  Joe?"  said  Clancy  to  me,  and  then  he  went 
around  borrowing  all  the  money  he  could  to  bet 
the  Johnnie  Duncan  would  beat  the  Withrow  in 
the  race.  But  would  Maurice  now  enter  at  all?  I 
asked  Clancy  about  that  part — if  there  was  not  a 
chance  that  Maurice  might  not  stay  down  the  Cape 
shore  way  and  let  the  race  go.  But  he  only 
laughed  and  said,  "Lord — Joey-boy,  you've  a  lot 
to  learn  yet  about  Maurice  in  spite  of  your  sea 
son's  seining  along  with  him." 

It  was  a  Monday  morning  when  Clancy  and  I 
reached  Gloucester.  The  race  was  to  be  sailed 
on  Friday  of  that  same  week.  For  several  days 
before  this,  we  were  told,  Wesley  Marrs,  Sam 
Hollis,  Tommie  Ohlsen,  and  the  rest  of  them  had 
been  out  in  the  Bay  tuning  up  their  vessels  like  a 
lot  of  cup  defenders.  Never  before  had  fishermen 
given  so  much  attention  to  the  little  details  before 
a  race.  The  same  day  that  we  got  home  they  were 
up  on  the  ways  for  a  final  polishing  and  primping 
up.  They  were  smooth  as  porcelain  when  they 
came  off.  And  coming  off  their  skippers  thought 
they  had  better  take  some  of  the  ballast  out  of 
them.  "  'Tisn't  as  if  it  was  winter  weather" — it 
was  the  middle  of  September  then — "with  big  seas 
and  driving  gales,"  was  the  way  Wesley  Marrs  put 

212 


The  Gossip  in  Gloucester 

it,  and  they  all  agreed  that  the  chances  were  ten 
to  one  that  the  wind  would  not  be  strong  enough 
to  call  for  the  heavy  ballast  they  carried.  Fisher 
men,  of  course,  are  built  to  be  at  their  best  when 
wind  and  sea  are  doing  their  worst,  and  so  the 
taking  out  of  ballast  for  a  September  race  looked 
like  good  judgment.  So  about  forty  tons  of  bal 
last  were  taken  out  of  most  of  them — the  Lucy 
Foster,  the  Withrow,  the  Nannie  O,  and  half  a 
dozen  others. 

That  looked  all  right,  but  on  Tuesday  night  an 
easterly  gale  set  in,  the  wind  blowing  forty-odd 
miles  an  hour.  All  day  Wednesday  it  blew,  and  all 
day  Thursday  even  harder,  with  a  promise  of  blow 
ing  harder  still  on  Friday,  which  was  to  be  the  day 
of  the  race.  The  people  of  Gloucester  who  had 
been  praying  for  wind,  "Wind  for  a  fisherman's 
race — wind — wind,"  seemed  likely  to  get  what 
they  wanted. 

On  Thursday  I  saw  Tommie  Ohlsen  and  Wesley 
Marrs  in  conference  on  the  street.  Wesley  had 
his  nose  up  in  the  air,  sniffing  the  breeze.  He 
shook  his  head  with,  "Tommie,  I  ought  toVe  let 
the  ballast  stay  in  the  Lucy.  It  looks  like  it's  going 
to  be  the  devil's  own  breeze  for  vessels  that  ain't 
prepared  for  it." 

"Yes,"  said  Ohlsen,  "wind  fifty-two  mile  an 
hour  the  weather  man  says,  and  still  making. 

213 


The  Seiners 

That's  bad  for  light  ballast  and  whole  sail.  If  we 
could  only  put  the  ballast  back " 

"Yes — if  we  could.  But  we  can't  put  it  back 
now — there  ain't  time  to  do  it  right  and  everybody 
would  laugh  at  us  too.  And  besides,  if  we  did,  all 
the  others  would  put  it  back,  and  where's  the  dif 
ference?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Tommie,  "but  if  all  of  us 
would  put  it  back  it  would  make  a  better  race." 

In  view  of  the  reputation  of  Wesley  Marrs  and 
Ohlsen  and  O'Donnell  and  their  vessels,  we  could 
not  understand  the  confidence  of  Withrow  and  his 
people  in  Sam  Hollis.  He  had  a  great  vessel — 
nobody  doubted  it.  But  it  was  doubted  by  many 
if  she  was  the  equal  of  some  of  the  others,  and 
few  believed  she  was  better.  And  Sam  Hollis  was 
not  the  man  to  carry  the  sail,  or  at  least  the  fisher 
men  of  Gloucester  generally  did  not  think  so.  But 
Withrow  and  Hollis's  gang  kept  on  bragging  and 
they  backed  their  bragging  up,  too.  I  drew  what 
money  I  had  saved  that  summer  out  of  my  seining 
share — two  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars — and 
bet  it  myself  with  one  of  the  Withrow's  crew  that 
the  Johnnie  Duncan  would  beat  the  Withrow, 
whether  the  Johnnie  was  home  to  race  or 
not.  It  was  really  betting  against  Withrow  him 
self,  who,  it  was  said,  was  taking  up  every  bet 
made  by  any  of  the  Withrow's  crew.  That  was 

214 


The  Gossip  in  Gloucester 

Thursday  afternoon,   and  still  no  word  of  the 
Duncan. 

"Good  for  you,  Joey,"  said  Clancy  when  he 
heard  of  that.  "Even  if  Maurice  don't  come  it's 
better  to  lose  your  money  and  shut  them  up.  But 
don't  worry — he'll  come.  Do  you  think  he's  been 
standing  and  looking  at  this  easterly — it's  all  along 
the  coast  to  Newf'undland  I  see  by  the  papers — 
and  not  swing  her  off  ?  He's  on  his  way  now,  and 
swinging  all  he's  got  to  her,  I'll  bet.  Wait  and 


see." 


"My,"  said  my  cousin  Nell,  "and  so  you  bet 
your  pile  on  the  Johnnie  Duncan  whether  she's  in 
or  not? — and  if  she  don't  reach  here  in  time  you 
lose  it  all?"  and  told  it  all  over  to  her  Will 
Somers,  to  whom  I  learned  she  was  now  engaged. 
And  from  that  time  on  I  noticed  that  Alice  Foster 
beamed  on  me  like  an  angel. 

Minnie  Arkell  was  home  for  the  race  just  as 
Clancy  had  prophesied.  She  had  come  with  some 
of  her  friends  down  from  Boston  three  or  four 
days  before  this,  in  the  same  steam-yacht  she  had 
been  aboard  of  at  Newport  in  June.  Meeting  me 
she  asked  me  about  our  passage  home  on  the  Col 
leen  Bawn,  and  I  told  her  of  it.  She  listened  with 
great  interest. 

"Is  Tom  O'Donnell  as  fine-looking  as  he  used 
to  be — with  his  grand  figure  and  head  and  great 


The  Seiners 

beard?  I  remember  some  years  ago  I  used  to 
think  him  the  finest-looking  man  I  ever  saw." 

I  told  her  that  I  guessed  she'd  think  him  fine- 
looking  yet  if  she'd  seen  him  to  the  wheel  of  the 
Colleen  Bawn  with  the  six-pound  shot  whistling 
by  him,  and  he  never  so  much  as  letting  on  he  knew 
they  were  there.  Her  eyes  shone  at  that.  Then 
she  offered  to  take  any  bets  I  made  off  my  hands. 
"You  can't  afford  to  take  your  little  savings  out  of 
the  bank  and  bet  it  on  a  vessel  that  may  not  be 
here  in  time.  I'll  take  it  off  your  hands — come !" 

That  was  an  attractive  side  to  her — caring  but 
little  for  money — but  I  wasn't  letting  anybody 
take  my  bets  off  my  hands.  I  still  believed  that 
Maurice  would  be  home,  though  that  was  seven 
o'clock  Thursday  evening.  I  knew  he  would  be 
home  if  he  only  guessed  that  his  friends  were  bet 
ting  on  his  vessel — and  they  not  even  knowing 
whether  she  was  to  be  home  in  time  for  the  race. 
And  if  he  weren't  home,  I  was  ready  to  lose  my 
little  roll. 


216 


XXVII 
IN  CLANCY'S  BOARDING-HOUSE 

FROM  Minnie  Arkell,  whom  I  met  at  the 
door  of  her  own  house,  I  went  to  Clancy's 
boarding  house.  I  did  not  find  Clancy  then  and  I 
went  off,  but  coming  back  again  I  found  him,  and 
a  very  busy  man  he  was,  with  an  immense  crock 
of  punch  between  his  knees.  He  was  explaining 
down  in  the  kitchen  to  the  other  boarders — fifteen 
or  twenty  of  the  thirstiest-looking  fishermen  I  ever 
laid  eyes  on — just  how  it  was  he  made  the  punch. 
The  bowl  was  about  the  size  of  a  little  beer  keg. 

"On  the  night  of  last  Fourth  of  July,"  he  was 
saying — "and  I  mind  we  came  in  that  morning 
with  a  hundred  and  seventy-five  barrels  we  got  off 
Mount  Desert — that  night  I  warn't  very  busy.  I 
gets  this  crock — four  gallons — let  you  all  have  a 
look — a  nice  cold  stony  crock  you  see  it  is,  and 
that  they'd  been  using  then  in  the  house  here  for 
piccalilli — and  a  fine  flavor  still  hanging  to  it. 
Wait  a  minute  now  till  I  tell  you.  It'll  taste  bet 
ter,  too,  after  you  hear.  And  into  the  crock  I  puts 
two  gallons  of  rum — fine  rum  it  was — for  a  bot 
tom.  Every  good  punch  has  to  have  a  bottom. 

217 


The  Seiners 

It's  like  the  big  blocks  they  put  under  a  house  by 
way  of  a  foundation,  or  the  ballast  down  near  the 
keel  of  a  vessel — there'd  be  no  stiffening  without 
it,  and  the  first  good  breeze  she'd  capsize,  and  then 
where'd  you  be?  Now,  on  top  of  those  two  gal 
lons — it  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  mind, 
when  I  started  to  mix  it — whiskey,  brandy,  and 
sherry — no,  I  can't  tell  what  parts  of  each — for 
that's  the  secret  of  it.  A  fellow  was  dory-mate 
with  me  once — a  Frenchman  from  Bordeaux — told 
me  and  said  never  to  tell,  and  I  gave  my  oath — 
down  in  St.  Peer  harbor  in  Miquelon  it  was — and 
afterwards  he  was  lost  on  the  Heptagon — and  of 
course,  never  being  released  from  the  oath,  I  can't 
tell.  Well,  there  was  the  rum,  the  whiskey,  the 
brandy,  and  the  sherry — and  on  top  o'  that  went 
one  can  of  canned  pine-apple — canned  pine  is  bet 
ter  than  the  pine-apple  right  out  of  its  jacket. 
Why?  Well,  that's  part  of  the  secret.  Then  a 
dozen  squeezed  lemons  and  oranges.  Then  some 
maraschino.  I'd  got  it  off  an  Italian  salt  bark  skip 
per  in  the  harbor  once.  On  top  o'  that  I  put  one 
quart  of  green  tea — boiled  it  myself — it  was  three 
in  the  morning  then,  I  mind — and  I  sampled  a  cup 
of  it.  Wait  now — wait.  Just  ease  your  sheets  and 
let  me  tell  it.  Here's  the  best  part  of  it.  I  takes 
that  crock  with  the  fourteen  quarts  of  good  stuff 
in  it  and  lowers  it  to  the  bottom  of  the  old 

218 


In   Clancy's  Boarding-House 

out  in  the  yard  with  a  lot  of  cold  round  little 
stones  above  and  below  and  more  little  stones 
packed  all  around  and  then  I  lowers  down  two 
good-sized  rocks  on  top  o'  that — and  nails  boards 
over  the  well — that's  why  nobody  could  get  into 
that  well  all  this  summer.  Well,  that  was  the 
morning  after  the  last  Fourth  of  July — I  mind  the 
sun  was  coming  up  over  the  rocks  of  Cape  Ann 
when  I  was  done.  And  that  was  July,  and  now  the 
last  of  September — three  months  ago.  A  while  ago 
in  the  dark  and  a  howling  gale — you  all  see  me 
come  in  with  it,  didn't  you?  Yes,  if  you  go  out 
quick,  you  c'n  see  the  well  just  where  I  left  it — 
I  goes  out  and  digs  it  up — and  here  it  is — and 
now  it's  here,  we'll  all  have  a  little  touch  in 
honor  of  to-morrow,  for  it's  a  great  day  when  the 
wind  blows  fifty  or  sixty  miles  an  hour  so  that 
fishermen  can  have  good  weather  for  a  race." 

And  they  all  had  a  little  touch.  Clancy  sat  on 
the  table  with  the  crock  between  his  feet  and  bailed 
it  out  while  they  all  agreed  it  was  the  smoothest 
stuff  that  ever  slid  down  their  throats.  There  was 
not  a  man  in  the  gang  who  was  not  sure  he  could 
put  away  a  barrel  of  it. 

"Put  away  a  barrel  of  it?"  whispered  Clancy — 
"yes.  Let's  get  out  of  here,  Joe.  In  an  hour  they'll 
be  going  into  the  air  like  firecrackers." 


219 


XXVIII 

IN  THE  ARKELL  KITCHEN 

WE  left  Clancy's  boarding  house  and  went 
over  to  old  Mrs.  Arkell's  place,  where 
most  of  the  skippers  who  were  going  to  race  next 
day  had  gathered.  Clancy  at  once  started  in  to 
mix  milk-punches.  And  he  sang  his  latest  favor 
ite,  with  the  gang  supping  his  mixture  between  the 
stanzas : 

"  Oh,  hove  flat  down  on  Quero  Banks 
Was  the  Bounding  Billow,  Captain  Hanks, 
And  the  way  she  was  asettlin*  was  an  awful  sight  to  see  " — • 

Then  Wesley  Marrs  sang  a  song  and  after  him 
Patsie  Oddie  followed  with  a  roarer. 

The  punch-mixing,  singing  and  story-telling 
went  on  and  in  the  middle  of  it  Tom  O'Donnell 
came  driving  in.  He  was  like  a  whiff  of  a  no'the- 
easter  out  to  sea.  uWhoo!"  he  said.  "Hulloh, 
Wesley-boy  —  and  Patsie  Oddie  —  and  Tommie 
Ohlsen — and,  by  my  soul,  Tommie  Clancy  again. 
Lord,  what  a  night  to  come  beating  down  from 
Boston!  What's  that,  Wesley? — did  the  Colleen 
outfoot  the  cutter  down  the  Cape  shore  way?  In* 

220 


In  the  Arkell  Kitchen 

deed  and  she  did,  and  could  do  it  over  again  in  the 
same  breeze  to  half  their  logy  old  battleships. 
Into  Boston  I  was  Monday  morning,  and  the  fish 
out  of  her  the  same  morning.  Tuesday  I  took  her 
across  to  Cape  Cod,  tuning  her  up,  and  into  Prov- 
incetown  that  night.  Next  day  it  was  blowing 
pretty  hard.  A  fine  day  for  a  run  across  the  Bay, 
I  thinks,  and  waits  for  maybe  a  Boston  vessel,  one 
of  the  T  Wharf  fleet.  For  I'll  go  to  Boston,  I 
thinks,  to  put  the  Colleen  on  the  railway  to-day, 
because  maybe  in  Gloucester  I  may  have  to  wait — 
or  may  get  no  chance  at  all — with  half  a  dozen 
or  more  that  will  be  waiting  to  be  scrubbed  for  the 
race.  And  who  comes  along  then  but  Tom  Lowrie. 
Waiting  for  me?'  he  asks,  and  I  tells  him  I  was 
hoping  it  would  be  the  new  Whalen  vessel, 
here's  one  that's  as  good  as  any  Whalen  vessel,' 
he  says — 'as  good  as  anything  out  of  Boston — or 
Gloucester,'  he  says.  So  across  the  Bay  we  had 
it  out.  And,  gentlemen,  I'm  telling  you  the  Col 
leen  sailed — all  the  wind  she  wanted.  She  came 
along,  and  Lowrie — by  the  looks  of  things  then 
— he's  sailing  yet.  Well,  I  never  did  like  that 
forem'st  that  was  in  the  Colleen,  and  so,  thinks  I, 
here's  a  chance  to  test  it — and  why  not,  with  the 
race  coming  on?  So  I  jibed  her  over  off  Minot's 
just — and  sure  enough  it  cracked  about  ten  feet 
below  the  mast-head." 

221 


The  Seiners 

"You  were  satisfied  then,  Tom?" 

"Sure  and  I  was.     And  better  before  the  race 

than  in  the  race.    And  next  day — that's  to-day — 

we  spent  putting  in  a  new  stick.     I  had  to  take 

what  I  could  get  to  save  time,  and  I  don't  think 

Jt's  what  it  ought  to  be  and  maybe  it  won't  last 

or  h  to-morrow.  But,  anyway,  you  want  to 
*  .1  eye  out  for  the  Colleen  to-morrow,  for  I'm 
r0  you  I  never  see  her  sail  like  she  did  yester- 
,  coming  across  the  Bay.  Ask  Tom  Lowrie 

t  time  you  see  him.  Well,  to-night  I  had  to 
beat  down  here  to  be  sure  and  be  here  in  time,  and 
so  out  we  put — and  here  I  am.  Blowing?  Indeed 
and  it  is.  And  thick,  is  it?  Standing  on  her 
knight-heads  and  looking  aft  you  c'd  no  more 
than  make  out  her  side-lights.  We  came  along, 
and  Boston  inner  and  outer  harbor  crowded  with 
vessels,  steamers  and  sail,  waiting  for  it  to  mod 
erate  so  they  c'd  put  out.  A  blessed  wonder  it  was 
we  didn't  sink  somebody — or  ourselves.  Outside 
we  went  along  by  smell,  I  think,  for  only  every 
once  in  awhile  could  we  see  a  light.  One  time  we 
almost  ran  into  something — a  fisherman  it  must 
have  been,  for  I  s'pose  only  a  fisherman  would  be 
going  in  on  a  night  like  this — out  of  a  squall  of 
snow  and  blackness  she  came — man  alive!  but, 
whoever  she  was,  she  was  coming  a  great  clip. 
Winged  out  and  we  didn't  see  her  till  the  end  of 

222 


In  the  Arkell  Kitchen 

her  bowsprit  caught  the  end  of  our  mainboom — 
hauled  in  we  were  to  two  blocks — and  over  we 
went  on  the  other  tack — yes,  sir,  over  on  the  other 
tack.  Thinks  I,  *  'Tis  a  new  way  to  jibe  a  vessel 
over/  And  the  end  of  her  foreboom  all  but  swept 
me  from  beside  the  wheel  and  over  the  rail  as  s^e 
went  by — she  was  that  close.  And  I  ^:^  o  /> 
her,  Won't  you  leave  us  your  name  so  I  c*^:«  ; 
you  next  time  we  meet?'  but  Lord,  not  a  wV*r  ji 
of  him.  He  kept  on  to  Boston,  I  suppose,  ar  i 
kept  on  to  Gloucester,  and  here  I  am." 

"And  the  Colleen,  Tom— she's  all  right?' 
"Right,  man?  Watch  her  to-morrow.  Barring 
that  forem'st  being  too  light — but  whoever  looked 
for  a  breeze  like  this  ? — two  days  and  three  nights 
now  and  blowing  harder  all  the  time.  But  never 
mind,  she'll  make  great  going  of  it  to-morrow. 
Divil  take  it,  but  we'll  all  make  great  going  of  it. 
Tommie,  dear,  what's  in  the  bowl?  Milk?  Man, 
but  don't  be  telling  me  things  like  that — and  the 
one  thing  the  doctors  warn  me  against  is  heart- 
trouble.  Ah,  milk-punch — that's  better,  man.  A 
wee  droppeen.  Look  at  it — the  color  of  the  tip  of 
a  comber  in  twelve  fathom  of  water  and  a  cross- 
tide.  Well,  here's  to  every  mother's  son  of  us 
that's  going  to  race  to-morrow.  May  ye  all  win 
if  the  Colleen  don't — all  but  you,  Sam  Hollis.  But 
where's  he  gone — into  the  other  room?  Well,  if 

223 


The  Seiners 

he  was  here  'twould  be  the  same.  He's  got  a  vessel 
that  can  sail.  Let  him  sail  her  to-morrow  and  win, 
if  it's  in  her — or  in  him.  But  a  thousand  dollars — 
and  outside  my  house  and  vessel,  Lord  knows,  it's 
all  the  money  I've  got  in  the  world — beyond  my 
house  and  vessel— a  thousand  dollars  the  Colleen 
beats  the  Withrow.  Hello,  there — what  d'y'say, 
Sam  Hollis — the  Colleen  and  the  Withrow — a 
thousand  dollars,  boat  for  boat.  But  where  the 
divil  is  he  ?  Gone  ?  Are  you  sure  ?  Gone !  But 
a  queer  time  to  leave  a  party — just  when  it's  get 
ting  to  be  real  sociable." 

"Never  mind  the  betting  now,  Tom,"  spoke  up 
Wesley  Marrs.  uLet  the  owners  have  that  to 
themselves.  And  according  to  accounts  some  of 
them  are  having  it.  Fred  Withrow  and  old  Dun 
can  are  ready  to  go  broke  over  the  race  to-morrow. 
Whichever  loses,  he'll  remember  this  race,  I'm 
thinking.  Here's  hoping  it  won't  be  Duncan.  So 
to  the  devil  with  the  betting,  Tom.  Some  of  us 
have  bet  all  we  could  afford — some  of  us  more 
than  we  could  afford,  I  callate.  Let's  have  a  song 
instead,  Tom." 

"Anything  to  please  you,  Wesley,"  and  O'Don- 
nell  began  to  sing.  He  started  off  first  with  his 

"  Oh,  seiners  all  and  trawlers  all," 

but  Alec  McNeill  and  Patsie  Oddie  interrupted. 

224 


In  the  Arkell  Kitchen 

"Oh,  give  us  the  other  one,  Tom — the  Newf'und- 
land  and  Cape  Shore  Men." 

"Ha!"  laughed  O'Donnell,  "it's  the  mention  of 
your  own  you  want — you  and  Patsie  there.  Well, 
it's  all  one  to  me.  Any  man  from  any  place,  so 
long  as  he's  a  fair  man  and  a  brave  man,  and  Lord 
knows  ye're  both  that.  Well,  here's  to  you  both — 
a  wee  drop  just,  Tommie — easy — easy,"  and  he 
began : 

"  Oh,  Newf'undland  and  Cape  Shore  men,  and  men  of 
Gloucester  town, 

With  ye  I've  trawled  o'er  many  banks  and  sailed  the  com 
pass  roun' ; 

I've  ate  with  ye,  and  bunked  with  ye,  and  watched  with 
ye  all  three, 

And  better  shipmates  than  ye  were  I  never  hope  to  see. 

I've  seen  ye  in  the  wild  typhoon  beneath  a  Southern  sky, 

I've  seen  ye  when  the  Northern  gales  drove  seas  to  mast 
head  high, 

But  summer  breeze  or  winter  blow,  from  Hatt'ras  to  Cape  Race, 

I've  yet  to  see  ye  with  the  sign  of  fear  upon  your  face. 

Oh,  swingin'  cross  the  Bay 

Go  eighty  sail  of  seiners, 

And  every  blessed  one  of  them  adriving  to  her  rail ! 

There's  a  gale  upon  the  waters   and  there's   foam  upon   the 

sea, 

And  looking  out  the  window  is  a  dark-eyed  girl  for  me, 
And  driving  her  for  Gloucester,  maybe  we  don't  know 
What  the  little  ones  are  thinking  when  the  mother  looks  out 

so. 

225 


The  Seiners 

Oh,  the  children  in  the  cradle  and  the  wife's  eyes  out  to  sea, 

The  husband  at  the  helm  and  looking  westerly — 

When   you   get   to   thinking   that  way,  don't  it  make  your 

heart's  blood  foam? 
Be  sure  it  does — so  here's  a  health  to  those  we  love  at  home. 

West  half  no' the  and  drive  her,  we're  abreast  now  of  Cape 

Sable, 

It's  an  everlasting  hurricane,  but  here's  the  craft  that's  able — 
When  you   get  to  thinking  that  way,  don't  it   make  your 

heart's  blood  foam? 
Be  sure  it  does — so  here's  a  health  to  those  we  love  at  home. 

Oh,  the  roar  of  shoaling  waters  and  the  awful,  awful  sea, 
Busted  shrouds  and  parting   cables,  and  the  white  death  on 

our  lee ; 
Oh,    the  black,    black  night  on  Georges    when  eight  score 

men  were  lost — 
Were  ye  there,  ye  men   of  Gloucester?     Aye,   ye   were — 

and  tossed 

Like  chips  upon  the  water  were  your  little  craft  that  night, 
Driving,  swearing,  calling  out,  but  ne'er  a  call  of  fright. 
So  knowing  ye  for  what  ye  are,  ye  masters  of  the  sea, 
Here's  to  ye,  Gloucester  fishermen,  a  health  to  ye  from  me. 

And  here's  to  it  that  once  again 

We'll  trawl  and  seine  and  race  again ; 

Here's  to  us  that's  living  and  to  them  that's  gone  before  ; 

And  when  to  us  the  Lord  says,  '  Come!  ' 

We'll  bow  our  heads,  «  His  will  be  done,' 

And  all  together  let  us  go  beneath  the  ocean's  roar." 

I  never  again  expect  to  hear  a  sea  song  sung  as 
226 


In  the  Arkell  Kitchen 

Tom  O'Donnell  sang  it  then,  his  beard  still  wet 
with  the  spray  and  his  eyes  glowing  like  coal-fire. 
And  the  voice  of  him !  He  must  have  been  heard 
in  half  of  Gloucester  that  night.  He  made  the 
table  quiver.  And  when  they  all  rose  with  glasses 
raised  and  sang  the  last  lines  again: 

"  And  here's  to  it  that  once  again 

We'll  trawl  and  seine  and  race  again  ; 

Here's  to  us  that's  living  and  to  them  that's  gone  before  ; 

And  when  to  us  the  Lord  says,  <  Come ! ' 

We'll  bow  our  heads,  « His  will  be  done,' 

And  all  together  we  shall  go  beneath  the  ocean's  roar " 


any  stranger  hearing  and  seeing  might  have  un 
derstood  why  it  was  that  their  crews  were  ready 
to  follow  these  men  to  death. 

"The  like  of  you,  Tom  O'Donnell,  never  sailed 
the  sea,"  said  Patsie  Oddie  when  they  had  got  the 
last  ro-o-ar — "even  the  young  ladies  come  in  off 
the  street  to  hear  you  better." 

He  meant  Minnie  Arkell,  who  was  standing  in 
the  doorway  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  O'Donnell, 
who  had  got  up  to  go  home,  but  with  Wesley  trying 
to  hold  him  back.  He  was  to  the  door  when 
Minnie  Arkell  stopped  him.  She  said  she  had 
heard  him  singing  over  to  her  house  and  couldn't 
keep  away,  and  then,  with  a  smile  and  a  look  into 

227 


The  Seiners 

his  eyes,  she  asked  O'Donnell  what  was  his  hurry 
— and  didn't  he  remember  her? 

In  her  suit  of  yachting  blue,  with  glowing  face 
and  tumbled  hair,  she  was  a  picture.  "Look  at 
her,"  nudged  Clancy — "isn't  she  a  corker?  But 
she's  wasting  time  on  Tom  O'Donnell." 

"What's  your  hurry,  Tom?"  called  Wesley. 
"Another  song." 

"No,  no,  it's  the  little  woman  on  the  hill.  She 
knew  I  was  to  come  down  to-night  and  not  a  wink 
of  sleep  will  she  get  till  I'm  home.  And  she  knows 
there'll  be  bad  work  to-morrow  maybe  and  she'd 
like  to  see  me  a  little  before  I  go,  and  I'd  like  to 
see  her,  too." 

"She's  a  lucky  woman,  Captain  O'Donnell,  and 
you  must  think  a  lot  of  her?"  Minnie  Arkell  had 
caught  his  eye  once  more. 

"I  don't  know  that  she's  so  awfully  lucky  with 
me  on  her  hands,"  laughed  O'Donnell,  "but  I  do 
think  a  lot  of  her,  child." 

"Child?  to  me?  But  you  don't  remember  me, 
Captain?" 

"Indeed,  and  I  do,  and  well  remember  you. 
And  it's  the  beautiful  woman  you've  grown  to  be. 
But  you  always  were  a  lovely  child.  It's  often  my 
wife  spoke  of  you  and  wondered  how  you  were. 
She's  heard  me  speak  of  your  father  a  hundred 
times,  I  know.  A  brave  man  your  father,  girl. 

228 


In  the  Arkell  Kitchen 

And  she'll  be  glad  to  see  you  any  time,  little  girl — 
or  the  daughter  of  any  fisherman  lost  at  sea.  If 
ever  you  have  a  blue  day,  go  to  her,  for  'tis  she  has 
the  heart — and,  God  bless  her,  an  extra  weakness 
for  orphans.  Her  own  children  some  day — there's 
no  telling.  But  good-night  to  you,  dear" — he 
patted  her  head — "good-night  all.  Wesley,  Tom- 
mie,  Patsie — all  of  ye,  good-night.  In  the  morn 
ing  we'll  have  it  out."  Out  the  door  he  went,  and 
I  fancied  there  was  almost  a  blush  on  Minnie 
Arkell's  face. 

Tom  O'Donnell  was  the  kind  of  a  man  a  fellow 
would  like  to  have  for  a  father. 


229 


XXIX 

MAURICE    BLAKE    COMES    HOME 

FROM  Mrs.  Arkell's  we  walked  back  to 
Clancy's  boarding  house.  Clancy  wanted  to 
see  how  they  made  out  with  the  punch.  We  found 
several  of  them  up  in  the  wind,  and  so  no  great 
danger  of  them.  But  two  or  three  of  them, 
Dave  Campbell  particularly,  were  running  wild. 
"Boomed  out  and  driving,"  said  Clancy,  and  be 
gan  to  remonstrate  with  Dave  on  the  evils  of  in 
temperance.  He  went  on  quite  awhile,  but  Dave 
showed  no  signs  of  remorse.  "Wait  and  I'll  fix 
him,"  said  Clancy,  and  obeying  a  motioning  with 
his  head  two  or  three  of  the  sober  ones  followed 
him  out. 

He  led  the  way  to  the  wood-shed  next  door 
where  there  was  a  goat,  and  the  goat  we  carried 
up  three  flights  of  stairs  to  Campbell's  room.  He 
was  a  big,  able  goat,  and  we  had  quite  a  time  to  get 
him  up  stairs.  At  last  we  got  him  tied  to  the  post 
of  Campbell's  bed.  Then  we  went  down  stairs  to 
the  kitchen  and  Clancy  persuaded  Campbell  to  go 
up  stairs  to  bed,  which  after  awhile  he  did.  It  was 
not  yet  morning  and  there  was  no  light  in  the  bed- 

230 


Maurice  Blake  Comes  Home 

room.  We  took  our  position  on  the  landing  out 
side  where  we  could  hear  everything  that  went  on 
in  Campbell's  room,  which  was  just  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs. 

Dave  went  in  and  we  could  hear  him  falling  over 
something  in  the  dark.  "What's  it?"  we  could 
hear  him,  and  acting  as  if  he  was  feeling  around. 
Taking  off  our  shoes  we  crawled  nearer.  We  could 
barely  make  out  his  shadow  in  the  dark,  but  we 
could  easily  hear  him  talking  to  himself.  "What's 
it?  Eh,  what?"  He  must  have  been  feeling  the 
horns  then,  and  the  goat  must  have  butted  him. 
Again,  and  once  more,  for  out  the  door  and  down 
the  stairs  went  Dave.  We  ran  in  and  cut  the  goat 
loose  and  down  he  went  after  Dave.  The  whole 
three  flights  they  raced. 

"He's  got  me  at  last,"  hollered  Dave,  bolting 
into  the  kitchen,  slamming  the  door  behind  him  and 
bracing  himself  against  it. 

We  took  the  goat  and  put  him  back  in  the  wood 
shed  and  came  back  to  the  kitchen  by  way  of  the 
window.  Dave,  who  was  still  braced  against  the 
door,  did  not  know  but  what  we  had  been  in  the 
kitchen  all  the  time,  and  that  gave  Clancy  a  fine 
chance  to  take  up  his  lecture  on  intemperance  just 
where  he  had  left  it  off, — at  the  very  beginning. 
"Intemperance,  Dave,  is  an  awful  thing.  You'll 
have  to  be  doing  something  for  it  soon,  I  think. 

231 


The  Seiners 

Yes,  when  the  devil  himself  gives  you  a  call  it's 
time  to  do  something.  You'd  better  come  with  me 
and  take  the  pledge.  Come  up  now  to  Father 
Haley." 

"I'm  a  Pres — a  Pres — a  Pres — by — ter — ian, 
Tommie." 

"Well,  come  with  me  to  your  church  then — any 
church  at  all.  What's  the  odds,  so  long's  you  re 
form.  Here,  we'll  do  it  right  here  now.  Come, 
hold  up  your  hand,"  and  then  and  there  Clancy  was 
about  to  get  Dave  to  promise  not  to  look  a  glass 
of  liquor  or  punch  in  the  face  for  a  year  again, 
when  who  comes  bouncing  in  but  Eddie  Parsons. 

"Hurroo!"  said  Clancy,  forgetting  Dave  and 
grabbing  Eddie  by  the  shoulder,  "and  the  Dun 
can's  home?" 

"She  is,"  said  Eddie,  "and  four  hundred  and 
fifty  barrels  of  mackerel  coming  out  of  her  hold. 
A  dozen  lumpers  getting  'em  out  from  both  holds 
and  two  at  a  lick  they're  coming  onto  Duncan's 
Dock.  And  what  d'y'think,  Tommie " 

"But  what  kept  you  so  long,  man?  We've  all 
been  getting  heart  disease  waiting  for  you." 

"I  know.  We  ought  to've  been  in  yesterday 
mornin',  or  in  the  afternoon  at  the  latest,  for  we 
swung  her  off  Tuesday  night  midnight — plenty  of 
time  with  a  fair  wind.  But  on  Wednesday  after 
noon,  coming  like  a  race-horse — wung  out — we 
sighted  a  dory  and  two  men  in  it  signalizing. 

2J2 


Maurice  Blake  Comes  Home 

Astray  they  were,  and  we  took  'em  aboard,  and  all 
that  night  we  stood  by.  And  warn't  it  chafing? 
Oh,  no !  Daylight  came  thick  and  we  waited  for 
it  to  clear,  keeping  the  horn  goin'.  It  lifted  and  we 
got  another  dory,  but  it  was  late  afternoon  then. 
Then  their  vessel  came  along  with  all  the  others 
accounted  for,  and  we  turned  over  our  two  and 
went  on  our  way.  And  maybe  she  didn't  come ! 
Oh,  no !  Blowing?  A  living  gale  all  the  time,  but 
the  skipper  kept  her  going.  You'd  hardly  b'lieve 
if  I  told  you  where  we  was  yesterday  afternoon  and 
we  here  now.  A  no'the-easter  and  a  howler  all  the 
way.  At  four  o'clock  we  passed  in  by  the  bell- 
buoy.  Man,  such  a  blow !  Are  we  in  the  race,  you 
say?  Are  we!  And  oh,  the  skipper  says  for  you 
and  Joe  to  be  down  after  breakfast.  We  all  knew 
you'd  get  home  and  be  all  right  with  Tom  O'Don- 
nell.  So  be  down  after  breakfast — the  skipper  will 
be  looking  for  you  both.  But  say,  let  me  tell  you. 
What  d'y'think?  Coming  into  the  harbor  a  while 
ago  who  d'y'  s'pose  was  out  in  the  stream  with  a 
lighter  alongside  his  vessel?  Who  but  Sam  Hollis 
and  the  Withrow.  Yes,  and  the  gang  putting 
ballast  back  in  her." 

"No?" 

"Yes.  And  some  one  of  them  sees  us  going  by 
in  the  dark.  And  we  did  go  by,  too!  'Lord!'  says 
somebody — 'twas  Withrow  himself — 'but  if  that 
don't  look  like  the  ghost  of  Maurice  Blake's  ves- 

233 


The  Seiners 

sell'  'Yes,'  hollers  back  the  skipper — and  they 
mustVe  been  some  surprised  to  hear  him — 'and 
the  ghost'll  be  with  you  to-morrow  in  the  race. 
Yes/  the  skipper  says,  'and  we're  all  ready  for  it. 
Four  weeks  since  we've  been  on  the  ways  and  may 
be  a  scrubbing  wouldn't  hurt  her,  but  if  it  keeps 
ablowin'  who'll  mind  that?  Not  the  Johnnie.' 
Oh,  Tommie,  if  you'd  seen  her  comin'  across  the 
Bay  of  Fundy  yesterday  afternoon  and  last  night. 
Did  she  come? — did  she  come?  Lord — O 

Lord " 

"And  so  that's  Wi throw — got  his  vessel  tuned 
up  like  a  fiddle  and  now  he's  putting  extra  ballast 
in  her.  Blast  him  and  Hollis  for  schemers!"  said 
Clancy.  "And  that's  how  it  comes  they're  so  ready 
to  bet — stiff  enin'  her  so  stiff  for  to-morrow  that 
they  know  something'll  happen  to  the  others  first. 
But  the  Johnnie's  a  bit  stiff,  too — and  there's  no 
ballast  out  of  her.  And,  as  the  skipper  says, 
maybe  we  ain't  been  on  the  ways  for  a  few  weeks 
now,  but  Lord,  the  Johnnie  ought  to  be  able  to 
drag  a  few  little  blades  of  sea-grass  on  her  hull  in 
this  breeze.  And  so  we're  in  the  race,  heh?  Dave, 
I  can't  stop  to  give  you  the  pledge  now — 
Oh,  the  Johnnie  Duncan  fast  and  able, 
Good-by,  dear,  good-by,  my  Mabel." 

And  Clancy  was  the  joyful  man  as  he  awoke  the 
echoes  in  the  gray  of  that  stormy  morning. 

234 


XXX 

THE  MORNING  OF  THE  RACE 

I  DON'T  think  that  the  people  of  Gloucester 
will  ever  forget  the  morning  of  that  race, 
which,  they  will  still  tell  you,  was  the  only  race 
ever  sailed.  Wind  was  what  the  fishermen  wanted, 
and  they  got  it — wind,  and  sea  with  it.  The  ad 
miral  of  the  White  Squadron,  then  at  anchor  at 
Rockport  Harbor,  just  around  the  Cape,  stood  on 
the  bridge  of  his  flagship  that  morning  and  looked 
out  to  sea.  Somebody  told  him  that  the  fishermen 
were  going  to  race  that  day.  He  took  another 
look.  "Race  to-day?  Pooh!  they'll  do  well  to 
stay  hove-to  to-day."  Of  course,  that  ought  to 
have  settled  it,  the  admiral  having  said  it. 

It  blew  that  day.  Leaving  home  I  had  time  for 
a  bite  to  eat  and  a  wash-up.  I  turned  the  corner 
and  picked  up  Clancy,  with  Maurice  Blake,  Tom 
O'Donnell  and  Wesley  Marrs  just  ahead.  We  ran 
into  Mr.  Edkins,  a  nice  old  gentleman,  who  had 
been  made  secretary  of  the  race  committee.  What 
he  didn't  know  about  fishing  would  be  the  making 
of  a  "killer,"  but,  of  course,  he  wasn't  picked  out 

235 


The  Seiners 

for  that — he'd  never  fished  a  day  in  his  life — but 
because  of  his  knowledge  of  the  rules  of  yacht 
racing.  Having  had  long  experience  in  managing 
yachting  regattas,  he  knew  all  about  time  allow 
ances  and  sail  measurements — though  there  were 
to  be  no  allowances  of  any  kind  here.  It  was  to  be 
boat  for  boat  in  this  race ;  every  vessel  for  herself. 
So  he  was  thought  to  be  a  good  man  to  have  to 
look  after  the  stake  and  judges'  boats.  It  was 
Gloucester's  Anniversary  celebration,  with  a  lot  of 
strangers  in  town — the  Governor  and  a  whole 
holdful  of  national  characters — and  in  deference 
to  them  the  race  was  to  be  managed  so  that  spec 
tators  might  have  a  chance  to  see  it. 

Mr.  Edkins  came  along  in  his  official  regalia — 
tall  hat,  frock  coat,  umbrella,  gloves,  and  a  pink 
in  his  button-hole. 

"Is  it  true,  Captain  O'Donnell,  that  the  race  is 
going  to  be  held  to-day?" 

O'Donnell  looked  at  him  as  though  he  didn't 
understand.  "To-day?  to-day? — Good  Lord,  are 
we  all  on  the  wrong  tack?  And  sure  isn't  this  the 
day?" 

"Oh,  yes — oh,  yes,  Captain  O'Donnell,  this  is 
the  day  appointed.  And  that  is  the  trouble. 
Surely  you  are  not  going  to  race  to-day?" 

"We're  not  going  to — "  broke  in  Wesley  Marrs, 
"and  why  aren't  we  going  to  race  to-day?  What 

236 


The  Morning  of  the  Race 

in  the  name  of  all  that's  good  have  we  been  doing 
with  our  vessels  up  on  the  railway  the  last  week  or 
two?  What  d'y'think  we  took  the  ballast  out  of 
our  vessels  for?  What  d'y'think  I  had  that  ever 
lasting  new  balloon  made  for  last  trip  in,  what  for 
that  big  mains'l  that  Tom  here  had  bent  on  the 
Colleen  yesterday,  and  for  what  did  Maurice  drive 
the  Johnnie  Duncan  home  only  last  night?  What 
in " 

"Wait,  Captain,  wait.  What  I  mean  is,  do  you 
know  how  it  is  outside?  They've  telegraphed  me 
that  up  in  Boston  Harbor  there  won't  be  a  steamer 
leave  the  harbor  to-day — it's  as  stormy  as  that. 
There  are  two  big  ocean  liners — and  we've  got 
word  that  they  won't  leave — won't  dare  to  leave 
— not  a  steamer  of  any  kind  will  leave  Boston  Har 
bor  to-day.  And  outside  a  heavy  sea  running — 
with  the  wind  fifty-four  miles  an  hour,  the  weather 
bureau  says.  Fifty-four  miles  an  hour.  That's  not 
street  corner  talk— it's  official.  And " 

"Divil  take  it,  does  being  official  make  it  blow 
any  harder?"  asked  O'Donnell. 

"And  I  know  the  way  you  fishermen  will  try 
to  carry  on.  I  know,  I  know — don't  tell  me  you're 
careful.  I  tell  you,  Captain  O'Donnell^  and  you, 
Captain  Marrs,  I  tell  you  all — that  if  you  persist 
in  racing  to-day  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole 
affair — completely  wash  my " 

237 


The  Seiners 

"Well,  'tis  a  fine  wash  day,  too.  Come,  Wesley 
— come,  Maurice,  we'll  have  to  be  getting  on." 

They  left  Mr.  Edkins  standing  there.  A  little 
farther  on  they  overtook  the  manager  of  the  in 
surance  company,  which  had  policies  on  most  of 
the  fishing  vessels.  He  was  just  about  to  enter  his 
office  when  O'Donnell  spied  him.  "Hullo,  there's 
the  man  I  want  to  see — "  and  hailed,  "Just  heave 
to  a  minute,  Mr.  Brooks,  if  you  please.  Now  look 
here,  you  know  we've  took  a  few  pigs  of  iron  out 
our  vessels,  and  you  know  it  looks  like  a  bit  of 
weather  outside.  Now,  what  I  want  to  know  is 
if  I  capsize  the  Colleen  Bawn  to-day — if  I  don't 
come  home  with  her — does  my  wife  get  the  in 
surance?  That's  what  I  want  to  know — does  my 
wife  get  the  insurance?" 

Mr.  Brooks  looked  at  O'Donnell,  rubbed  his 
chin  and  scratched  his  head,  then  looked  at  O'Don 
nell  again.  "Why,  I  suppose  it  all  comes  under  the 
usual  risk  of  fishing  vessels.  I  suppose  so — but — 
h-m — it  will  be  pretty  risky,  won't  it  ?  But  let  me 
see — wait  a  moment  now — there's  the  President  in 
side,  and  Mr.  Emerson,  too — he's  a  director." 

He  went  inside,  and  we  could  see  that  they  were 
talking  it  over.  Pretty  soon  they  all  came  out 
with  the  President  of  the  company  in  front. 
"Good-morning,  Captain  O'Donnell  —  Captain 
Marrs,  good-morning.  How  do  you  do,  Mau- 

238 


The  Morning  of  the  Race 

rice?  Captain  O'Donnell,  take  it  from  me  as 
official,  your  insurance  on  the  Colleen  Bawn  is 
safe.  For  the  honor  and  glory  of  old  Gloucester 
go  ahead  and  sink  her." 

"And  the  Lucy  Foster?"  asked  Wesley. 

"And  the  Lucy  Foster,  Captain  Marrs." 

"Of  course  the  Johnnie  Duncan,  speaking  for 
the  owners?"  asked  Maurice. 

"For  every  vessel  that  we  insure  that  leaves  the 
harbor  to  race  to-day." 

"Hurroo!"  said  O'Donnell.  "Don't  tell  me, 
Wesley,  I'm  no — what's  it? — dip-lo-mat.  Yes, 
dip-lo-mat,  by  the  Lord!" 

But  it  certainly  was  a  desperate  morning  for  a 
race.  The  streets  seemed  to  be  full  of  men  ready 
to  go  out.  There  were  to  be  only  nine  vessels 
in  the  race,  but  another  half  dozen  vessels  were 
going  over  to  see  it,  and  that  meant  more  than 
three  or  four  hundred  able  fishermen  going  out. 
The  men  that  were  going  to  stay  ashore  would 
go  up  to  those  that  were  going  out  and  say, 
"Well,  good-by,  old  man.  If  you  don't  come 
back,  why,  you  know  your  grave'll  be  kept  green." 
And  the  men  going  out  would  grin  and  say, 
"That's  all  right,  boy,  but  if  she  goes,  she'll  go 
with  every  rag  on  her,"  in  a  half-joking  way,  too, 
but  it  was  the  belief  that  morning  that  there  might 
be  a  whole  lot  of  truth  in  that  kind  of  joking. 

239 


The  Seiners 

Before  we  reached  the  dock  we  knew  that  the 
whole  town  had  learned  pretty  much  that  half  a 
dozen  of  the  skippers  had  promised  each  other  in 
Mrs.  Arkell's  kitchen  the  night  before,  "No  sail 
comes  off  except  what's  blown  off,"  and  there 
promised  to  be  some  blown  off.  Men  who  had 
only  just  heard  their  skippers  speak  of  that  were 
bragging  of  it  in  the  streets.  "Why,"  said  one  of 
O'DonnelFs  crew  as  we  were  coming  down  the 
dock,  "if  any  crawly-spined  crawfish  loses  his  nerve 
and  jumps  to  our  halyards,  thinkin'  the  Colleen's 
going  to  capsize — why,  he'll  get  fooled — and 
why?  Because  our  halyards  are  all  housed  aloft 
— by  the  skipper's  orders." 

That  sounded  strong,  but  it  was  true.  When 
we  reached  the  end  of  our  dock  we  looked  for 
ourselves,  and  there  it  was.  The  Colleen's  crew 
had  hoisted  their  mains'l  already  and  there  she  lay 
swayed  up  and  all  ready,  and  men  aloft  were  even 
then  putting  the  seizing  on.  Tom  O'Donnell  him 
self  was  pointing  it  out  to  Sam  Hollis  with  a  good 
deal  of  glee,  thinking,  I  suppose,  to  worry  Hollis, 
who,  to  uphold  his  reputation,  would  have  to  do 
the  same  and  take  the  chances  that  went  with  it. 
By  this  time  everybody  knew  that  Hollis  had  put 
his  ballast  back  during  the  night.  One  of  Wesley 
Marrs's  men  jumped  onto  the  Withrow  and  below 
and  had  a  look  for  himself.  He  couldn't  get  down 

240 


The  Morning  of  the  Race 

by  way  of  the  hatches — they  were  battened  down 
— but  he  dropped  into  the  forec's'le  and,  before 
anybody  knew  what  he  was  up  to,  he  had  slipped 
through  the  forehold  and  into  the  mainhold  and 
there  he  saw  where  they  had  hurriedly  put  back 
the  flooring,  and  he  also  saw  extra  barrels  of  sand 
tiered  low  for  further  stiffening  of  the  Withrow. 
He  was  discovered  before  he  got  on  deck  and 
nearly  beaten  to  a  jelly  before  he  got  up  on  the 
wharf  again.  It  ended  in  a  fine  little  riot  with 
some  of  our  gang  and  O'Donnell's  mixing  in. 
Clancy  came  down  the  back-stay  like  a  man  falling 
from  the  masthead,  so  as  to  be  into  it  before  it  was 
over.  He  was  almost  too  late — but  not  quite. 
Only  old  Mr.  Duncan  coming  along  with  half  a 
dozen  other  dignified  owners  stopped  it.  But  there 
was  time  for  Clancy  to  speak  his  mind  out  to  Sam 
Hollis.  And  that  gave  Hollis  a  chance  to  say, 
"Well,  talk  away,  Tommie  Clancy,  but  this  is  the 
day  I  make  the  Johnnie  Duncan  take  in  sail."  And 
Clancy  answered  him,  "That  so !  Well,  no  matter 
what  happens,  put  this  down,  Maurice  Blake  hangs 
to  his  canvas  longer  than  Sam  Hollis  to-day — 
hangs  to  it  or  goes  over  with  it  or  the  spars  come 
out  of  the  Johnnie  Duncan." 

After  the  talking  was  over  we  thought  Hollis 
would  be  shamed  into  sending  a  man  aloft  to  mouse 
his  halyards  too.  But  not  for  Hollis.  That  was 

241 


The  Seiners 

a  little  too  much  for  him.  Clancy  and  three  or 
four  others  finished  attending  to  our  own  halyards 
and  overhauling  the  gear  aloft.  Our  mains'l  was 
already  hoisted  arid  the  other  three  lowers  with 
stops  loosed  were  all  ready  to  hoist  too.  The 
mains'l  had  been  left  standing  just  as  it  was  when 
the  Johnnie  Duncan  came  in  that  morning.  It  was 
flat  as  a  board,  and  I  remember  how  grieved  we 
were  when  we  had  to  lower  it  again  because  the  tug 
that  came  to  give  us  a  kick  out  from  the  dock  could 
not  turn  us  around  with  it  up — it  was  blowing  so. 
The  tug  captain  said  he  might  manage  to  turn  it 
against  the  sun,  but  that  would  be  bad  luck  of 
course,  and  he  knew  the  crew  wouldn't  stand  for  it, 
especially  with  a  race  like  this  on  hand.  It  had  to 
be  with  the  sun ;  and  so  we  had  to  lower  it  again, 
and  when  the  vessel  was  turned  around,  hoist  it 
again,  not  forgetting  to  lash  the  halyards  aloft 
again  too.  But  after  we'd  got  it  swayed  up  it 
didn't  set  near  so  well  as  before — too  baggy  to  our 
way  of  thinking. 


242 


XXXI 

THE  START  OF  THE  RACE 

WE  got  away  at  last  and  beat  out  the  harbor 
with  the  Lucy  Foster,  the  Colleen  Bawn, 
the  Withrow,  the  Nannie  O,  and  four  others.  For 
other  company  going  out  there  was  a  big  steam- 
yacht  with  Minnie  Arkell  and  her  friends  aboard, 
which  did  not  get  out  of  the  harbor.  Out  by  the 
Point  they  shipped  a  sea  and  put  back,  with  Minnie 
Arkell  waving  her  handkerchief  and  singing  out — 
"Don't  take  in  any  sail,  Maurice,"  as  they  turned 
back.  There  was  also  the  Eastern  Point,  a  high- 
sided  stubby  steamer,  at  that  time  running  regularly 
to  Boston;  and  there  was  the  New  Rochelle,  a 
weak-looking  excursioner  that  might  have  done  for 
Long  Island  Sound,  where  somebody  said  she'd 
just  come  from,  but  which  didn't  seem  to  fit  in 
here.  Her  passengers  were  mostly  fishermen — 
crews  of  vessels  not  in  the  race.  There  was  also  a 
big  powerful  iron  sea-tug,  the  Tocsin,  that  prom 
ised  to  make  better  weather  of  it  than  any  of  the 
others. 

Billie  Simms  was  one  of  the  men  who  were  not 
243 


The  Seiners 

going  in  the  race  but  intended  to  see  some  of  it. 
He  was  in  the  Henry  Clay  Parker,  a  fine-looking 
vessel  that  was  not  so  very  fast,  but  had  the  repu 
tation  of  being  wonderfully  stiff.  Coming  out  past 
Eastern  Point  lighthouse,  where  he  could  begin 
to  get  a  look  at  things,  Billie  hollered  out  that  he 
was  sorry  he  hadn't  entered.  uLooks  to  me  like  the 
vessel  that'll  stay  right  side  up  the  longest  ought 
to  win  this  race,  and  that's  the  Henry  C."  He 
hauled  her  across  our  stern  while  he  was  yelling  and 
I  remember  she  took  one  roll  down  to  her  sheer 
poles  when  passing  on,  and  Maurice  sang  out, 
"Look  out,  Billie,  or  you'll  capsize  her." 

"Capsize  this  one?  Lord,  Maurice,  I've  tried 
it  a  dozen  times  and  I'm  damned  if  I  could,"  and 
he  went  rolling  on  like  nothing  I  ever  saw,  unless 
it  was  the  rest  of  us  who  were  then  manoeuvring  for 
the  start.  We  passed  the  Parker  again  before  we 
got  to  the  line,  and  old  Peter  Hines,  who  was 
hanging  to  her  main-rigging,  had  to  yell  us  his 
good  wishes.  "Drive  her,  Maurice-boy,  and  what 
ever  you  do  don't  let  the  man  that  took  your 
vessel  from  you  beat  you  home,"  meaning  Sam 
Hollis  of  course.  Maurice  waved  his  hand,  but 
said  nothing.  He  was  looking  serious  enough, 
however. 

Tommie  Clancy  was  the  boy  who  wasn't  worry 
ing  particularly.  He  saluted  Peter  as  if  he  were 

244 


The  Start  of  the  Race 

going  out  on  a  holiday  excursion.  "Ain't  she  a 
dog,  Peter?  Watch  her." 

"That's  what  she  is — and  drive  her,  Tommie — 
drive  her." 

"Oh,  we'll  drive  her,  Peter,"  called  back  Tom 
mie,  and  began : 

"  Oh,  I  love  old  Ocean*  s  smile, 

I  love  old  Ocean's  frowning — 
I  love  old  Ocean  all  the  while, 

My  prayer's  for  death  by  drowning." 

"Let  you  alone,  Tommie,  and  you'll  get  your 
prayer  some  day,"  was  Peter's  last  hail  as  we 
straightened  out  for  the  swoop  across  the  line. 

Clancy  was  to  the  wheel  then  with  the  skipper. 
Both  were  lashed  and  we  had  life-lines  around 
deck.  To  the  wheel  of  every  vessel  in  the  fleet 
were  two  men  lashed,  and  they  all  had  life-lines 
around  deck. 

In  crossing  the  line  there  was  no  attempt  at  jock 
eying  such  as  one  often  sees  in  yacht  racing.  There 
was  no  disposition  on  the  part  of  any  skipper  to  do 
anything  that  would  set  anybody  else  back.  Of 
course,  everybody  wanted  to  be  in  a  good  berth  and 
to  cross  between  the  guns ;  but  the  idea  was  to  give 
the  vessels  such  a  try  out  as  they  would  get  out  to 
sea — as  if  they  were  making  a  passage  in  a  breeze. 
The  course — forty-two  miles  or  so — was  very  short 

245 


The  Seiners 

for  a  fisherman,  for  one  great  thing  in  a  fisherman 
is  her  power  to  stand  a  long  drag.  Day  and  night 
in  and  day  and  night  out  and  driving  all  the  time 
is  the  way  a  fisherman  wants  it.  Any  sort  of  rac 
ing  machine  could  be  built  to  stand  a  little  hard 
going  for  a  while.  But  that  wouldn't  be  living 
through  a  long  hard  winter's  gale  on  the  Banks — 
one  of  those  blows  where  wind  and  sea — and  in 
shoal  water  at  that — have  a  chance  to  do  their 
worst.  Fishermen  are  built  for  that  sort  of  work 
and  on  their  sea-worthiness  depends  not  only  the 
fortunes  of  owners  but  the  lives  of  men — of  real 
men — and  the  happiness  and  comfort  of  wives  and 
children  ashore.  And  so  the  idea  in  everybody's 
mind  that  day  was  to  make  this  test  as  nearly  fair 
as  could  be  and  see  who  had  the  fastest  and  most 
weatherly  boat  in  the  fleet.  There  were  men  to 
the  wheel  that  day  who  could  handle  big  fisher 
men  as  if  they  were  cat-boats,  who  would  have 
dared  and  did,  later,  dare  to  sail  their  vessels  as 
close  to  a  mark  in  this  sea  as  men  sail  a  twenty-foot 
knockabout  in  the  smoothest  of  waters  inshore — 
only  with  the  fishermen  a  slip-up  meant  the  loss  of 
a  vessel,  maybe  other  vessels  too,  and  twenty-five 
or  fifty  lives  perhaps. 

And  so  the  skill  of  these  men  was  not  used  to 
give  anybody  the  worst  of  it.  A  fair  start  and 
give  everybody  his  chance  was  the  idea.  Thus 

246 


The  Start  of  the  Race 

Tommie  Ohlsen  could  have  forced  the  Withrow 
outside  the  starting  boat  and  compelled  her  to  come 
about  and  maybe  lose  a  few  minutes,  but  he  did 
not.  He  held  up  and  let  her  squeeze  through. 
O'Donnell  in  his  turn  could  have  crowded  Ohlsen 
when  he  let  up  on  the  Withrow,  but  he  did  not. 
He,  too,  held  up  in  turn  and  let  Ohlsen  have  his 
swing  going  across. 

Across  we  went,  one  after  the  other.  West- 
souVest  was  the  course  to  a  stake-boat,  which  we 
were  told  would  be  found  off  Egg  Rock,  fourteen 
miles  away.  We  had  only  the  compass  to  go  by, 
for  at  the  start  it  was  rain  and  drizzle,  as  well  as 
wind  and  a  big  sea,  and  you  couldn't  see  a  mile 
ahead.  On  the  way  we  shot  by  the  New  Rochelle, 
which  had  started  ahead  with  the  intention  of  wait 
ing  for  the  fleet  at  the  first  stake-boat.  Now  she 
was  headed  back,  wabbing  awfully.  From  Billie 
Simms,  who  went  over  part  of  the  course  in  the 
Henry  Clay  Parker  ahead  of  the  fleet,  we  got 
word  of  the  trouble  as  we  went  by.  The  New 
Rochelle  was  beginning  to  leak.  "You  c'n  spit 
between  her  deck-planks  and  into  her  hold — she's 
that  loose,"  hollered  Billie.  I  don't  think  the  fish 
ermen  aboard  of  her  minded  much  so  long  as  she 
stayed  afloat,  but  her  captain,  a  properly  licensed 
man,  did,  I  expect,  and  so  she  put  back  with  some 
of  them  growling,  I  heard  afterward,  "and  after 

247 


The  Seiners 

paying  their  little  old  three  dollars  to  see  only  the 
start  of  the  race."  Her  captain  reported,  when  he 
got  in,  that  he  didn't  see  anything  outside  but  a 
lot  of  foolish  fishermen  trying  to  drown  them 
selves. 

The  first  leg  was  before  the  wind  and  the  Lucy 
Foster  and  the  Colleen  Bawn  went  it  like  bullets. 
I  don't  expect  ever  again  to  see  vessels  run  faster 
than  they  did  that  morning.  On  some  of  those 
tough  passages  from  the  Banks  fishing  vessels  may 
at  times  have  gone  faster  than  either  of  these  did 
that  morning.  It  is  likely,  for  where  a  lot  of  able 
vessels  are  all  the  time  trying  to  make  fast  pas 
sages — skippers  who  are  not  afraid  to  carry  sail 
and  vessels  that  can  stand  the  dragging — and  in 
all  kinds  of  chances — there  must  in  the  course  of 
years  of  trying  be  some  hours  when  they  do  get 
over  an  everlasting  lot  of  water.  But  there  are 
no  means  of  checking  up.  Half  the  time  the  men 
do  not  haul  the  log  for  half  a  day  or  more.  Some 
of  the  reports  of  speed  of  fishermen  at  odd  times 
have  been  beyond  all  records,  and  so  people  who 
do  not  know  say  they  must  be  impossible.  But 
here  was  a  measured  course  and  properly  anchored 
stake-boats — and  the  Lucy  and  the  Colleen  did  that 
first  leg  of  almost  fourteen  sea-miles  in  fifty  min 
utes,  which  is  better  than  a  i6y2  knot  clip,  and 
that  means  over  nineteen  land  miles  an  hour.  I 

248 


The  Start  of  the  Race 

think  anybody  would  call  that  pretty  fast  going. 
And,  as  some  of  them  said  afterward,  "Lord  in 
Heaven!  suppose  we'd  had  smooth  water!"  But 
I  don't  think  that  the  sea  checked  them  so  very 
much — not  as  much  as  one  might  think,  for  they 
were  driving  these  vessels. 


249 


XXXII 

O'DONNELL  CARRIES  AWAY  BOTH  MASTS 

WE  were  next  to  the  last  vessel  across  the 
starting  line.  The  Nannie  O  —  we 
couldn't  see  them  all — about  held  the  Lucy  Fos 
ter  and  the  Colleen  Bawn  level.  The  Withrow 
showed  herself  to  be  a  wonderful  vessel  off  the 
wind,  too.  Wesley  Marrs  was  around  the  stake- 
boat  first.  In  the  fog  and  drizzle  the  leaders 
did  not  find  the  stake-boat  at  once.  Wesley  hap 
pening  to  be  nearest  to  it  when  they  did  see  it, 
got  the  benefit  and  was  first  around.  We  were 
close  up,  almost  near  enough  to  board  the  With- 
row's  quarter  rounding.  I  am  not  sure  that  the 
skipper  and  Clancy,  who  were  to  the  wheel,  did 
not  try  to  give  Hollis  a  poke  with  the  end  of  our 
long  bowsprit;  but  if  they  did,  the  Johnnie  was 
not  quite  fast  enough  for  that.  The  Withrow 
beat  us  around.  Looking  back  we  could  see  the 
others  coming  like  wild  horses.  Every  one  of 
them,  except  one  that  carried  away  something  and 
hauled  up  and  out  of  it,  was  diving  into  it  to  the 
foremast  with  every  leap  the  same  as  we  had  been. 
On  that  first  leg  nobody  could  stand  anywhere 

250 


O'Donnell  Carries  Away  Both  Masts 

for'ard  of  the  fore-hatch  or  he  would  have  been 
swept  overboard. 

Leaving  Egg  Rock  and  going  for  Minot's 
Ledge,  the  skipper  left  the  wheel  and  George  Nel 
son  took  his  place  beside  Clancy.  It  was  drizzling 
then,  every  now  and  then  that  settling  down  so 
that  we  couldn't  see  three  lengths  ahead.  At  such 
times  we  simply  hoped  that  nobody  ahead  would 
carry  away  anything  or  in  any  way  become  dis 
abled  in  the  road. 

Well  clear  of  the  stake-boat,  however,  it  lifted 
and  we  could  see  what  we  were  doing.  The  Lucy 
Foster  was  still  ahead  with  O'Donnell  and  Ohlsen 
and  Hollis  almost  abreast — no  more  than  a  few 
lengths  between.  Practically  they  were  all  about 
just  as  they  started.  We  were  next.  It  was  a 
broad  reach  to  Minot's  Ledge  and  hard  going  for 
all  hands.  It  must  be  remembered  that  we  all  had 
everything  on,  even  to  balloon  and  staysails,  and 
our  halyards  were  lashed  aloft.  The  men  to  the 
mast-head,  who  were  up  there  to  shift  tacks,  were 
having  a  sweet  time  of  it  hanging  on,  even  lashed 
though  they  were. 

Everybody  was  pretty  well  strung  up  at  this 
time.  The  skipper,  a  line  about  his  elbow,  was 
hooked  up  to  the  main-rigging — the  weather  side, 
of  course — and  it  was  up  to  a  man's  waist  and 
boiling  white  on  the  lee  side.  The  crew  were  snug 

251 


The  Seiners 

up  under  the  weather  rail  and  hanging  on — no 
mistake  either  about  the  way  they  were  hanging 
on.  Every  once  in  awhile  one  of  us  would  poke 
his  head  up  to  see  what  they  were  doing  to 
windward  of  us.  Mr.  Duncan,  who  had  come 
aboard  just  before  we  left  the  dock,  was  trying  to 
sit  on  the  weather  bitt  near  the  wheel-box.  He 
had  a  line  around  his  waist,  too.  He  had  bet  a 
lot  of  money  with  Withrow  on  the  race,  but  I  don't 
think  that  his  money  was  worrying  him  half  so 
much  as  some  other  things  then. 

So  far  as  we  could  see  at  this  time  we  were 
making  as  good  weather  as  any  of  them.  And  our 
best  chance — the  beat  home — was  yet  to  come. 
The  Johnnie  had  the  stiffness  for  that.  Had  the 
Johnnie  reached  Gloucester  from  the  Cape  Shore 
earlier  she,  too,  would  have  been  lightened  up  and 
made  less  stiff.  To  be  sure  she  would  have  had 
her  bottom  scrubbed  and  we  would  have  had  her 
up  to  racing  pitch,  with  every  bit  of  sail  just  so  and 
her  trim  gauged  to  a  hair's  depth,  but  that  did  not 
matter  so  very  much  now.  The  Johnnie  was  in 
shape  for  a  hard  drag  like  this,  and  for  that  we 
had  to  thank  the  tricky  Sam  Hollis.  We  began  to 
see  that  after  all  it  was  a  bit  of  good  luck  our 
vessel  not  being  home  in  time  to  tune  up  the  same 
as  the  rest  of  the  fleet. 

It  was  along  about  here — half-way  on  the  reach 
252 


O'Donnell  Carries  Away  Both  Masts 

to  Minot's — that  Tommie  Ohlsen  broke  his  main- 
gaff.  It  was  the  fault  of  the  Eastern  Point,  the 
Boston  steamer.  She  had  gone  ahead  of  the  fleet, 
taking  almost  a  straight  course  for  Minot's  Ledge. 
Reaching  across  from  Half-Way  Rock  to  Minot's 
the  fleet  began  to  overhaul  her.  She,  making  bad 
weather  of  it  along  here,  started  to  turn  around. 
But,  rolling  to  her  top-rail,  it  was  too  much  for 
them,  and  her  captain  kept  her  straight  on  for  Bos 
ton.  That  was  all  right,  but  her  action  threw  Ohl 
sen  off.  She  was  right  in  the  Nannie  O's  way,  and 
to  save  the  steamer  and  themselves  from  a  collision 
and  certain  loss  of  life,  Ohlsen  had  to  jibe  the 
Nannie  O,  and  so  suddenly  that  the  Nannie  O's 
gaff  broke  under  the  strain.  And  that  lost  Ohlsen 
his  chance  for  the  race.  It  was  too  bad,  for  with 
Ohlsen,  Marrs,  and  O'Donnell,  each  in  his  own 
vessel  in  a  breeze,  you  could  put  the  names  in  a 
hat  and  shake  them  up.  When  we  went  by  the 
Nannie  O  her  crew  were  getting  the  trysail  out 
of  the  hold,  and  they  finished  the  race  with  that, 
and  made  good  going  of  it,  as  we  saw  afterward. 
Indeed,  a  trysail  that  day  would  have  been  sail 
enough  for  almost  any  men  but  these. 

Before  we  reached  Minot's  there  was  some  sail 
went  into  the  air.  One  after  the  other  went  the 
balloons — on  the  Foster,  the  Colleen,  the 
Withrow  and  at  last  on  us.  I  don't  know  whether 

253 


The  Seiners 

they  had  any  trouble  on  the  others — being  too  busy 
with  our  own  to  watch — but  we  came  near  to  los 
ing  men  with  ours.  It  got  caught  under  our  keel, 
and  we  started  to  try  to  haul  it  in — the  skipper 
having  an  economical  notion  of  saving  the  owner 
the  expense  of  a  new  sail,  I  suppose.  But  Mr. 
Duncan,  seeing  what  he  was  at,  sang  out:  uLet  the 
sail  go  to  the  devil,  Captain — I'll  pay  for  the  new 
one  myself."  Even  at  that  we  had  to  crawl  out  on 
the  bowsprit — six  or  eight  of  us — with  sharp 
knives,  and  cut  it  away,  and  we  were  glad  to  get 
back  again.  The  Johnnie  never  slackened.  It 
was  desperate  work. 

Rounding  Minot's,  Tom  O'Donnell  gave  an  ex 
hibition  of  desperate  seamanship.  He  had  made 
up  his  mind,  it  seems,  that  he  was  due  to  pass 
Wesley  Marrs  along  here.  But  first  he  had  to  get 
by  the  Withrow.  Off  Minot's  was  the  turning 
buoy,  with  just  room,  as  it  was  considered,  for  one 
vessel  at  a  time  to  pass  safely  in  that  sea. 

O'Donnell  figured  that  the  tide  being  high  there 
was  easily  room  for  two,  and  then  breasted  up  to 
the  Withrow,  outside  of  her  and  with  the  rocks 
just  under  his  quarter.  Hollis,  seeing  him  come, 
made  a  motion  as  if  to  force  him  on  the  rocks,  but 
O'Donnell,  standing  to  his  own  wheel,  called  out — 
"You  do,  Sam  Hollis,  and  we'll  both  go."  There 
certainly  would  have  been  a  collision,  with  both 

254 


O'Donnell  Carries  Away  Both  Masts 

vessels  and  both  crews — fifty  men — very  likely  lost, 
but  Hollis  weakened  and  kept  off.  That  kind  of 
work  was  too  strong  for  him.  He  had  so  little 
room  that  his  main-boom  hit  the  can-buoy  as  he 
swept  by. 

Once  well  around  O'Donnell,  in  great  humor, 
and  courting  death,  worked  by  Hollis  and  then, 
making  ready  to  tack  and  pass  Wesley's  bow,  let 
the  Colleen  have  her  swing,  but  with  all  that  sail  on 
and  in  that  breeze,  there  could  be  only  one  out 
come.  And  yet  he  might  have  got  away  with  it 
but  for  his  new  foremast,  which,  as  he  had  feared, 
had  not  the  strength  it  should  have  had.  He  let 
her  go,  never  stopped  to  haul  in  his  sheets — he  had 
not  time  to  if  he  was  to  cross  Wesley's  bow.  So  he 
swung  her  and  the  full  force  of  the  wind  getting 
her  laid  both  spars  over  the  side — first  one  and 
then  the  other  clean  as  could  be. 

Hollis  never  stopped  or  made  a  motion  to  help, 
but  kept  on  after  the  Lucy  Foster.  We  almost  ran 
over  O'Donnell,  but  luffed  in  time,  and  the  skipper 
called  out  to  O'Donnell  that  we'd  stand  by  and 
take  his  men  off. 

O'Donnell  was  swearing  everything  blue.  "Go 
on — go  on — don't  mind  me.  Go  on,  I  tell  you. 
We're  all  right.  I'll  have  her  under  jury  rig  and 
be  home  for  supper.  Go  on,  Maurice — go  on  and 
beat  that  divil  Hollis!" 

255 


The  Seiners 

Half  way  to  Eastern  Point  on  the  way  back 
saw  us  in  the  wake  of  the  Withrow,  which  was 
then  almost  up  with  the  Lucy  Foster.  It  was  the 
beat  home  now,  with  all  of  us  looking  to  see  the 
Withrow  do  great  things,  for  just  off  the  ways 
and  with  all  her  ballast  in  she  was  in  great  trim 
for  it.  Going  to  windward,  too,  was  generally 
held  to  be  her  best  point  of  sailing.  All  that  Hollis 
had  to  do  was  to  keep  his  nerve  and  drive  her. 


256 


XXXIII 

THE  ABLE  JOHNNIE  DUNCAN 

HOLLIS  was  certainly  driving  her  now.  He 
ought  to  have  felt  safe  in  doing  so  with 
the  Lucy  Foster  to  go  by,  for  the  Lucy,  by  reason 
of  the  ballast  taken  out  of  her,  should,  everything 
else  being  equal,  capsize  before  the  Withrow. 

Hollis  must  have  had  that  in  mind,  for  he  fol 
lowed  Wesley  Marrs's  every  move.  Wesley  was 
sailing  her  wide.  And  our  skipper  approved  of 
that,  too.  To  attempt  a  too  close  course  in  the 
sea  that  was  out  in  the  Bay  that  day,  with  the 
blasts  of  wind  that  were  sweeping  down,  would 
have  deadened  her  way  altogether  too  much — • 
maybe  hung  her  up.  And  so  it  was  "Keep  her  a 
full  whatever  you  do,"  and  that,  with  coming 
about  when  the  others  did — we  being  afraid  to 
split  tacks — made  plenty  of  work  for  us. 

"Hard-a-lee"  it  was  one  after  the  other,  and  for 
every  "Hard-a-lee"  twenty  of  us  went  down  into 
the  roaring  sea  fore  and  aft  and  hauled  in  and 
slackened  away  sheets,  while  aloft,  the  fellows 
lashed  to  the  foremast  head  shifted  top  and  stay- 

257 


The  Seiners 

sail  tacks.  They  were  wise  to  lash  themselves 
up  aloft,  for  with  every  tack,  she  rolled  down  into 
it  as  if  she  were  never  coming  up,  and  when  she 
did  come  up  shook  herself  as  if  she  would  snap 
her  topmasts  off. 

Half  way  to  Eastern  Point  on  the  beat  home  it 
seemed  to  occur  to  the  skipper  and  to  Clancy  that 
the  Johnnie  Duncan  stood  a  chance  to  win  the  race. 
It  was  Clancy,  still  lashed  to  the  wheel,  now  with 
Long  Steve,  turned  his  head  for  just  a  second  to 
Mr.  Duncan  and  spoke  the  first  word  of  it. 

"Mr.  Duncan,  do  you  know,  but  the  Johnnie's 
got  a  chance  to  win  this  race?" 

"D'y' think  so,  Tommie— d'y'think  so?" 

Some  of  us  in  the  crew  had  been  thinking  of 
that  same  thing  some  time,  and  we  watched  Mr. 
Duncan,  who,  with  a  life  line  about  him,  was 
clinging  to  a  bitt  aft,  and  watching  things  with 
tight  lips,  a  drawn  face  and  shiny  eyes.  We  lis 
tened  to  hear  what  else  he  might  have  to  say.  But 
he  didn't  realize  at  once  what  it  meant.  His  eyes 
and  his  mind  were  on  the  Lucy  Foster. 

"What  d'y'think  of  the  Lucy  and  the  Withrow, 
Tommie?"  Mr.  Duncan  said  next. 

Tommie  took  a  fresh  look  at  the  Lucy  Foster, 
which  was  certainly  doing  stunts.  It  was  along 
this  time  that  big  Jim  Murch — a  tall  man,  but 
even  so,  he  was  no  more  than  six  feet  four,  and 

258 


The  Able  Johnnie  Duncan 

the  Lucy  twenty-four  feet  beam — was  swinging 
from  the  ringbolts  under  the  windward  rail  and 
throwing  his  feet  out  trying  to  touch  with  his  heels 
the  sea  that  was  swashing  up  on  the  Lucy's  deck. 
And  every  once  in  a  while  he  did  touch,  for  the 
Lucy,  feeling  the  need  of  her  ballast,  was  making 
pretty  heavy  weather  of  it.  Every  time  she  rolled 
and  her  sheer  poles  went  under,  Jim  would  holler 
out  that  he'd  touched  again. 

We  could  hear  him  over  on  the  Johnnie  at  times. 
Mr.  Duncan,  who  believed  that  nothing  ever  built 
could  beat  the  Lucy  Foster,  began  to  worry  at 
that,  and  again  he  spoke  to  Clancy.  He  had  to 
holler  to  make  himself  heard. 

"But  what  do  you  think  of  the  Lucy's  chances, 
Tommie?" 

Clancy  shook  his  head. 

And  getting  nothing  out  of  Clancy,  Mr.  Duncan 
called  out  then:  "What  do  you  think  of  the  Lucy, 
you,  Captain  Blake?" 

The  skipper  shook  his  head,  too.  ."I'm  afraid 
it's  too  much  for  her." 

And  then — one  elbow  was  hitched  in  the  weather 
rigging  and  a  half  hitch  around  his  waist — the 
skipper  swung  around,  and  looking  over  to  the 
Withrow,  he  went  on: 

"I  don't  see,  Mr.  Duncan,  why  we  don't  stand 
a  pretty  good  chance  to  win  out  on  Hollis." 

259 


The  Seiners 

"Why  not — why  not — if  anything  happens  to 
the  Lucy." 

It  jarred  us  some  to  think  that  even  there,  in 
spite  of  the  great  race  the  Johnnie  was  making  of 
it,  she  was  still,  in  the  old  man's  eyes,  only  a  sec 
ond  string  to  the  Lucy  Foster. 

About  then  the  wind  seemed  to  come  harder 
than  ever,  but  Clancy  at  the  wheel  never  let  up 
on  the  Johnnie.  He  socked  it  to  her — wide  and 
free  he  sailed  her.  Kept  her  going — oh,  but  he 
kept  her  going.  "If  this  one  only  had  a  clean 
bottom  and  a  chance  to  tune  her  up  before  going 
out,"  said  somebody,  and  we  all  said,  "Oh,  if  she 
only  had — just  half  a  day  on  the  railway  before 
this  race." 

We  were  fairly  buried  at  times  on  the  Johnnie 
— on  the  Lucy  Foster  it  must  have  been  tough. 
And  along  here  the  staysail  came  off  the  Withrow 
and  eased  her  a  lot.  We  would  all  have  been  bet 
ter  off  with  less  sail  along  about  that  time.  In 
proof  of  that  we  could  see  back  behind  us  where 
the  Nannie  O,  under  her  trysail,  was  almost  hold 
ing  her  own.  But  it  wouldn't  do  to  take  it  off. 
Had  they  not  all  said  before  putting  off  that  morn 
ing  that  what  sail  came  off  that  day  would  be 
blown  off? — yes,  sir — let  it  blow  a  hundred  miles 
an  hour.  And  fishermen's  pride  was  keeping  sail 
on  us  and  the  Foster.  Hollis  tried  to  make  it  look 

260 


The  Able  Johnnie  Duncan 

that  his  staysail  blew  off,  but  we  knew  better — a 
knife  to  the  halyards  did  the  work. 

It  was  after  her  big  staysail  was  off  and  she  mak 
ing  easier  weather  of  it  that  the  Withrow  crossed 
the  Lucy's  bow  for  the  first  time  in  the  race  and 
took  the  lead. 

We  all  felt  for  Mr.  Duncan,  who  couldn't  seem 
to  believe  his  eyes.  We  all  felt  for  Wesley,  too, 
who  was  desperately  trying  to  hold  the  wind  of  the 
Withrow — he  had  even  rigged  blocks  to  his  jib 
sheets  and  led  them  to  cleats  clear  aft  to  flatten  his 
headsails  yet  more.  And  Wesley's  crew  hauled 
like  demons  on  those  jib  sheets — hauled  and  hauled 
with  the  vessel  under  way  all  the  time — hauled  so 
hard,  in  fact,  that  with  the  extra  purchase  given 
them  by  the  blocks  they  pulled  the  cleats  clean  out, 
and  away  went  the  Lucy's  jib  and  jumbo — and 
there  was  Wesley  hung  up.  And  out  of  the  race, 
for  we  were  all  too  near  the  finish  for  her  to  win 
out  then  unless  the  Johnnie  and  the  Withrow  cap 
sized  entirely. 

Mr.  Duncan,  when  he  saw  the  Lucy's  crew 
trying  to  save  the  head-sails,  couldn't  contain 
himself. 

"Cut  'em  away — cut  'em  to  hell!"  he  sang  out, 
and  we  all  had  to  smile,  he  spoke  so  excitedly.  But 
it  was  no  use.  The  Lucy  was  out  of  the  race,  and 
going  by  her,  we  didn't  look  at  Mr.  Duncan  nor 

261 


The  Seiners 

Wesley  Marrs — we  knew  they  were  both  taking 
it  hard — but  watched  the  Withrow. 

Over  on  the  other  tack  we  went,  first  the 
Withrow,  then  the  Johnnie.  We  were  nearing  the 
finish  line,  and  we  were  pretty  well  worked  up — 
the  awful  squalls  were  swooping  down  and  burying 
us.  We  could  hear  Hollis's  voice  and  see  his  crew 
go  up  when  he  warned  his  men  at  the  wheel  to 
ease  up  on  her  when  the  squalls  hit.  On  our  vessel 
the  skipper  never  waved  an  arm  nor  opened  his 
mouth  to  Clancy  at  the  wheel.  And  of  his  own 
accord  you  may  be  sure  that  Clancy  wasn't  easing 
up.  Not  Tommie  Clancy — no,  sir — he  just  drove 
her — let  her  have  it  full — lashed  her  like,  with  his 
teeth  and  eyes  flashing  through  the  sea  that  was* 
swashing  over  him.  And  the  Johnnie  fairly 
sizzled  through  the  water. 

There  were  several  times  in  the  race  when  we 
thought  the  going  was  as  bad  as  could  be,  but  now 
we  were  all  sure  that  this  was  the  worst  of  all. 
There  was  some  excuse  for  Mr.  Duncan  when  he 
called  out: 

"My  God,  Tommie,  but  if  she  makes  one  of 
those  low  dives  again,  will  she  ever  come  up?" 

"I  dunno,"  said  Clancy  to  that.  "But  don't  you 
worry,  Mr.  Duncan,  if  any  vessel  out  of  Glouces- 
ter'll  come  up,  this  one'll  come  up." 

He  was  standing  with  the  water,  the  clear  water, 
262 


The  Able  Johnnie  Duncan 

not  the  swash,  well  up  to  his  waist  then,  and  we 
could  hear  him : 

"  Oh,  I  love  old  Ocean's  smile, 

I  love  old  Ocean's  frowning — 
I  love  old  Ocean  all  the  while, 

My  prayer's  for  death  by  drowning." 

That  was  too  much  for  Mr.  Duncan,  and, 
watching  his  chance,  he  dove  between  the  house 
and  rail,  to  the  weather  rigging,  where  the  skipper 
grabbed  him  and  made  him  fast  beside  himself. 
The  old  man  took  a  look  down  the  slant  of  the 
deck  and  took  a  fresh  hold  of  the  rigging. 

"Captain  Blake,  isn't  she  down  pretty  low?" 

"Maybe — maybe — Mr.  Duncan,  but  she'll  go 
lower  yet  before  the  sail  comes  off  her.  This  is 
the  day  Sam  Hollis  was  going  to  make  me  take  in 
sail." 

Less  than  a  minute  after  that  we  made  our  rush 
for  the  line.  Hollis  tried  to  crowd  us  outside  the 
stake-boat,  which  was  rolling  head  to  wind  and 
sea,  worse  than  a  light-ship  in  a  surf  gale — tried  to 
crowd  us  out  just  as  an  awful  squall  swooped  down. 
It  was  the  Johnnie  or  the  Withrow  then.  We  took 
it  full  and  they  didn't,  and  there  is  all  there  was 
to  it.  But  for  a  minute  it  was  either  vessel's  race. 
At  the  critical  time  Sam  Hollis  didn't  have  the 
nerve,  and  the  skipper  and  Clancy  did. 

263 


The  Seiners 

They  looked  at  each  other — the  skipper  and 
Clancy — and  Clancy  soaked  her.  Held  to  it 
cruelly — recklessly.  It  was  too  much  to  ask  of  a 
vessel.  Down  she  went — buried.  It  was  heaven 
or  hell,  as  they  say,  for  a  while.  I  know  I  climbed 
on  to  her  weather  run,  and  it  was  from  there  I 
saw  Withrow  ducking  her  head  to  it — hove  to, 
in  fact,  for  the  blast  to  pass. 

The  Johnnie  weathered  it.  Able — able.  Up 
she  rose,  a  horse,  and  across  the  line  we  shot  like 
a  bullet,  and  so  close  to  the  judge's  boat  that  we 
could  have  jumped  aboard. 

We  all  but  hit  the  Henry  Clay  Parker,  Billie 
Simms's  vessel,  on  the  other  side  of  the  line,  and 
it  was  on  her  that  old  Peter  of  Crow's  Nest,  leap 
ing  into  the  air  and  cracking  his  heels  together, 
called  out  as  we  drove  by : 

"The  Johnnie  Duncan  wins — the  able  Johnnie 
Duncan — sailin'  across  the  line  on  her  side  and 
her  crew  sittin'  out  on  the  keel." 


264 


XXXIV 

MINNIE  ARKELL  ONCE  MORE 

WE  were  hardly  across  the  line  when  there 
was  a  broom  at  our  truck — a  new  broom 
that  I  know  I,  for  one,  never  saw  before.  And  yet 
I  suppose  every  vessel  that  sailed  in  the  race  that 
day  had  a  new  broom  hid  away  somewhere  below 
— to  be  handy  if  needed. 

But  it  was  the  Johnnie  Duncan,  sailing  up  the 
harbor,  that  carried  hers  to  the  truck.  And  it  was 
Mr.  Duncan  who  stood  aft  of  her  and  took  most 
of  the  cheers,  and  it  was  Clancy  and  Long  Steve 
who  waved  their  hands  from  the  wheel-box,  and 
it  was  the  skipper  who  leaned  against  the  weather 
rigging,  and  the  rest  of  us  who  lined  the  weather 
rail  and  answered  the  foolish  questions  of  people 
along  the  road. 

Every  vessel  we  met  seemed  to  think  we  had 
done  something  great;  and  I  suppose  we  had  in  a 
way — that  is,  skipper,  crew  and  vessel.  We  had 
out-carried  and  out-sailed  the  best  out  of  Glouces 
ter  in  a  breeze  that  was  a  breeze.  We  had  taken 
the  chance  of  being  capsized  or  hove-down  and 

265 


The  Seiners 

losing  the  vessel  and  ourselves.  Mr.  Duncan,  I 
think,  realized  more  than  anybody  else  at  the  time 
what  we  had  been  through.  "I  didn't  know  what 
it  really  was  to  be,"  he  said,  "before  I  started.  If 
I  had,  I  doubt  very  much  if  I'd  have  started."  We 
all  said — "No,  no,  you'd  have  gone  just  the  same, 
Mr.  Duncan;"  and  we  believed  he  would,  too. 

Going  up  the  harbor  somebody  hinted  to  Clancy 
that  he  ought  to  go  and  have  a  mug-up  for  himself 
after  his  hard  work — and  it  had  been  hard  work. 
"And  I'll  take  your  place  at  the  wheel,"  said  that 
somebody,  "for  you  must  be  tired,  Tommie." 

"And  maybe  I  am  tired,  too,"  answered  Clancy, 
"but  if  I  am,  I'm  just  thick  enough  not  to  know 
it.  But  don't  fool  yourself  that  if  I  stood  lashed 
to  this  wheel  since  she  crossed  the  starting  line  this 
morning  I'm  going  to  quit  it  now  and  let  you  take 
her  up  the  harbor  and  get  all  the  bouquets.  I'll 
have  a  mug-up  by  and  by,  and  it'll  be  a  mug-up, 
don't  you  worry." 

And  it  was  a  mug-up.  He  took  the  gold  and 
silver  cup  given  to  Maurice  as  a  skipper  of  the 
winning  vessel,  and  with  the  crew  in  his  wake 
headed  a  course  for  the  Anchorage,  where  he  filled 
it  till  it  flowed — and  didn't  have  to  pay  for  filling 
it,  either. 

"It's  the  swellest  growler  that  I  ever  expect  to 
empty.  Gold  and  silver — and  holds  six  quarts 

266 


Minnie  Arkell  Once  More 

level.  Just  a  little  touch  all  round,  and  we'll  fill 
her  up  again.  'Carte  blanche,  and  charge  it  to 
me/  says  Mr.  Duncan." 

"What  kind  is  carte  blanche,  Tommie?"  asked 
Andie  Howe. 

"They'll  tell  you  behind  the  bar,"  said  Clancy. 

"Billie,"  ordered  Andie,  "just  a  little  touch  of 
carte  blanche,  will  you,  while  Clancy's  talking. 
He's  the  slowest  man  to  begin  that  ever  I  see. 
Speeches — speeches — speeches,  when  your  throat's 
full  of  gurry — dry,  salty  gurry.  A  little  touch  of 
that  carte  blanche  that  Mr.  Duncan  ordered  for 
the  crew  of  the  Johnnie  Duncan,  Billie,  will  you?" 

"Carte  blanche — yes,"  went  on  Clancy,  "and  I 
callate  the  old  fizzy  stuff's  the  thing  to  do  justice 
to  this  fe-lic-i-tous  oc-ca-sion.  Do  I  hear  the  voice 
of  my  shipmates?  Aye,  aye,  I  hear  them — and  in 
accents  unmistakable.  Well,  here's  a  shoot — six 
quarts  level — and  a  few  pieces  of  ice  floating 
around  on  top.  My  soul,  but  don't  it  look  fine  and 
rich?  Have  a  look,  everybody." 

"Let's  have  a  drink  instead,"  hollered  Parsons. 

Clancy  paid  no  attention  to  that.  "Who  was 
the  lad  in  that  Greek  bunch  in  the  old  days  that 
they  sank  up  to  his  neck  in  the  lake — cold  spark 
ling  water — and  peaches  and  oranges  and  grapes 
floating  on  a  little  raft  close  by — but  him  fixed  so 
he  couldn't  bend  his  head  down  to  get  a  drink  nor 

267 


The  Seiners 

lift  his  head  to  take  a  bite  of  fruit — and  hot 
weather  all  the  time,  mind  you.  Lord,  the  thirst 
he  raised  after  a  while !  What  was  his — oh,  yes, 
Tantalus — that's  the  lad,  Tantalus — the  cold 
sparkling  water.  Man,  the  thirst  he " 

"The  thirst  of  Tantalus  ain't  a  patch  on  the 
thirst  I  got.  And  this  is  something  better  than 
cold  sparkling  water.  That's  you  all  over,  Tommie 
— joking  at  serious  times,"  wailed  Parsons. 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that  with  you,  Eddie?  Well, 
let's  forget  Tantalus  and  drink  instead  to  the 
able-est,  handsom-est,  fast-est  vessel  that  ever 
weathered  Eastern  Point — to  the  Johnnie  Duncan 
— and  her  skipper." 

"And  Mr.   Duncan,  Tommie — he's  all  right, 


too." 


"Yes,  of  course,  Mr.  Duncan.  And  while  we're 
at  it,  here's  to  the  whole  blessed  gang  of  us — skip 
per,  owner  and  crew — we're  all  corkers." 

"Drive  her,  Tommie!"  roared  a  dozen  voices, 
and  Tommie  drove  her  for  a  good  pint  before  he 
set  the  cup  down  again. 

It  was  a  great  celebration  altogether.  Wher 
ever  one  of  our  gang  was  there  was  an  admiring 
crowd.  Nobody  but  us  was  listened  to.  And  the 
questions  we  had  to  answer!  And  of  course  we 
were  all  willing  enough  to  talk.  We  must  have 
told  the  story  of  the  race  over  about  twenty  times 

268 


Minnie  Arkell  Once  More 

each.  After  a  while,  of  course,  some  of  our  fel 
lows,  with  all  the  entertaining  and  admiration  that 
was  handed  out  to  them,  had  to  put  a  touch  or  two 
to  it.  It  was  strong  enough  to  tell  the  bare  facts 
of  that  race,  I  thought,  but  one  or  two  had  to  give 
their  imaginations  a  chance.  One  man,  a  fisher 
man,  one  of  those  who  had  been  on  one  of  the  ex 
cursion  boats,  and  so  didn't  see  the  race  at  all, 
came  along  about  two  hours  after  the  Duncan 
crew  struck  the  Anchorage  and  listened  to  Andie 
Howe  for  a  while.  And  going  away  it  was  he  who 
said,  "It  must  have  been  a  race  that.  As  near  as 
I  c'n  make  it  out  the  Johnnie  sailed  most  of  that 
race  keel  up." 

"Oh,  don't  go  away  mad,"  Andie  called  after 
him.  "Come  back  and  have  a  little  touch  of  carte 
blanche — it's  on  the  old  man." 

"I'll  take  it  for  him,"  came  a  voice.  It  was  old 
Peter  of  Crow's  Nest,  who  took  his  drink  and 
asked  for  Clancy.  Clancy  was  in  the  back  part  of 
the  room,  and  I  ran  and  got  him.  Peter  led  the 
way  to  the  sidewalk. 

"Tommie,  go  and  get  Maurice,  if  it  ain't  too 
late." 

"What  is  it?" 

"It's  Minnie  Arkell.  Coming  up  the  dock  after 
the  race  she  ran  up  and  grabbed  him  and  threw  her 
arms  about  his  neck.  'You're  the  man  to  sail  a 

269 


The  Seiners 

race  in  heavy  weather/  she  hollers,  and  a  hundred 
people  looking  on.  And  there's  half  a  dozen  of 
those  friends  of  hers  and  they're  up  to  her  house 
and  now  making  ready  for  a  wine  celebration.  Go 
and  get  him  before  it  is  too  late." 


270 


XXXV 

CLANCY  LAYS  DOWN  THE  LAW 

CLANCY  started  on  the  run  and  I  after  him. 
"We'll  go  to  his  boarding-house  first,  Joe, 
and  if  he's  not  there,  to  Minnie  Arkell's." 

He  wasn't  in  his  boarding-house,  and  we  hur 
ried  out.  On  the  sidewalk  we  almost  ran  into 
little  Johnnie  Duncan. 

"Oh,  Captain  Clancy — or  you,  Joe  Buckley — 
won't  you  tell  me  about  the  race?  Grandpa  was 
too  busy  to  tell  me,  but  went  down  the  wharf  with 
a  lot  of  people  to  show  them  the  Johnnie  Duncan. 
They  all  left  the  office  and  told  me  to  mind  it. 
And  my  cousin  Alice  came  in  with  Joe's  cousin 
Nell.  And  I  saw  Captain  Blake  with  some  people 
and  ran  after  him  and  I  just  caught  up  with  him 
and  they  went  off  and  left  me.  And  then  a  little 
while  ago  he  came  back  by  himself  and  ran  toward 
the  dock  and  didn't  even  see  me.  And  Captain 
Blake  used  to  be  so  good  to  me!"  Poor  Johnnie 
was  all  but  crying. 

"Toward  the  dock?  That's  good,"  breathed 
Clancy.  "Stay  here,  Johnnie,  and  we'll  tell  you 

271 


The  Seiners 

about  the  race  when  we  get  back,"  and  led  the 
way  to  Mr.  Duncan's  office. 

We  found  the  skipper  in  the  outer  office,  stand 
ing  beside  the  bookkeeper's  desk  and  looking  out 
of  the  window  next  the  slip.  Hearing  us  coming 
he  turned  and  then  we  saw  that  he  held  in  his 
hands  an  open  box  with  a  string  of  beautiful  pearls. 
Noticing  us  gaze  at  the  pearls  in  surprise,  he  said, 
"Mr.  Duncan  gave  me  these  for  winning  the  race. 
And  I  took  them,  thinking  that  somebody  or  other 
might  like  them." 

"And  don't  she?"  asked  Clancy — it  seemed  to 
slip  out  of  Tommie  without  his  knowing  it. 

"I  guess  not,"  said  Maurice.  Only  then  did  it 
flash  on  me  what  it  all  might  mean. 

"Did  you  try?"  asked  Clancy. 

"Try!  Yes,  and  was  made  a  fool  of.  Oh, 
what's  the  use — what  in  hell's  the  use  ?"  He  stood 
silent  a  moment.  "I  guess  not,"  he  said  then — 
looked  out  the  window  again,  and  hove  the  whole 
string  out  of  the  open  window  and  into  the  slip. 

Clancy  and  myself  both  jumped  to  stop  him,  but 
we  weren't  quick  enough.  They  were  gone — the 
whole  beautiful  necklace.  The  skipper  fixed  his 
eyes  on  where  they  had  struck  the  water.  Then 
he  turned  and  left  the  office.  At  the  door  he 
stopped  and  said:  "I  don't  know — maybe  I  won't 
take  the  Johnnie  next  trip,  and  if  I  don't,  Tommie, 

272 


Clancy  Lays  Down  the  Law 

I  hope  you'll  take  her — Mr.  Duncan  will  let  you 
have  her  if  you  want.  I  hope  you'll  take  her  any 
way,  for  you  know  what  a  vessel  she  is.  You'll 
take  care  of  her — "  and  went  and  left  us. 

Clancy  swore  to  himself  for  a  while.  He  hadn't 
quite  done  when  the  door  of  the  rear  office  opened 
and  Miss  Foster  herself  came  out.  She  greeted 
me  sweetly — she  always  did — but  was  going  out 
without  paying  any  attention  to  Clancy.  She 
looked  pale — although  perhaps  I  would  not  have 
noticed  her  paleness  particularly  only  for  what  had 
just  happened. 

I  was  surprised  to  see  then  what  Clancy  did. 
Before  she  had  got  to  the  door  he  was  beside 
her. 

"Miss  Foster,  Miss  Foster,"  he  said,  and  his 
tone  was  so  different  from  what  I  had  ever  heard 
from  him  before  that  I  could  hardly  believe  it.  He 
was  a  big  man,  it  must  be  remembered,  and  still 
on  him  were  the  double-banked  oilskins  and  heavy 
jack-boots  he  wore  through  the  race.  Also  his 
face  was  flushed  from  the  excitement  of  the  day — 
the  salt  water  was  not  yet  dry  on  him  and  his 
eyes  were  shining,  shining  not  alone  with  the  glow 
of  a  man  who  had  been  lashed  to  a  wheel  steering 
a  vessel  in  a  gale — and,  too,  to  victory — for  hours, 
and  not  alone  with  the  light  that  comes  from  two 
or  three  quarts  of  champagne — it  was  something 

273 


The  Seiners 

more  than  that.  Whatever  it  was  it  surprised  me 
and  held  Alice  Foster's  attention. 

"Mister  Clancy,"  she  said,  and  turned  to  him. 

"Yes,  Mister  Clancy — or  Tommie  Clancy — or 
Captain  Clancy,  as  it  is  at  times — master  of  an  odd 
vessel  now  and  again — but  Clancy  all  the  time — 
just  Clancy,  good-for-nothing  Clancy — hard  drink 
er — reveller — night-owl — disturber  of  the  peace — 
at  best  only  a  fisherman  who'll  by  and  by  go  out 
and  get  lost  like  thousands  of  the  other  fishermen 
before  him — as  a  hundred  every  year  do  now  and 
have  three  lines  in  the  paper — name,  age,  birth 
place,  street  and  number  of  his  boarding-house, 
and  that  will  be  the  end  of  it.  But  that  don't 
matter — Tommie  Clancy,  whatever  he  is,  is  a 
friend  of  Maurice  Blake's.  And  he  means  to 
speak  a  word  for  Maurice. 

"For  a  long  time  now,  Miss  Foster,  Maurice  has 
thought  the  world  of  you.  He  never  told  me — he 
never  told  anybody.  But  I  know  him.  He  waited 
a  long  time,  I'm  sure,  before  he  even  told  himself 
— maybe  even  before  he  knew  it  himself.  But  I 
knew  it — bunk-mates,  watch-mates,  dory-mates 
we've  been.  He's  master  of  a  fine  vessel  now  and 
I'm  one  of  his  crew.  He's  gone  ahead  and  I've 
stayed  behind.  Why?  Because  he's  carried  in  his 
heart  the  picture  of  a  girl  he  thought  could  be  all  a 
woman  ought  to  be  to  a  man.  And  that  was  well, 

274 


Clancy  Lays  Down  the  Law 

A  man  like  Maurice  needs  that,  and  maybe — maybe 
• — you're  all  that  he  thought  and  more  maybe,  Miss 
Foster.  Wait — he  had  that  picture  before  his  eyes 
all  the  time.  I  hadn't  any  picture.  Years  ago, 
when  I  was  Maurice's  age,  I  might  have  had  some 
thing  like  it,  and  now  look  at  me.  And  why? 
Why,  Miss  Foster,  you're  a  woman — could  you 
guess?  No?  Think.  What's  running  in  a  man's 
head,  do  you  think,  in  the  long  winter  nights  when 
he's  walking  the  deck,  with  the  high  heavens  above 
and  the  great,  black  rolling  sea  around  him? 
What's  in  his  head  when,  trawls  hauled  and  his 
fish  aboard,  when  the  danger  and  the  hard  work 
are  mostly  by,  his  vessel's  going  to  the  west'ard? 
What  when  he's  an  hour  to  rest  and  he's  lying, 
smoking  and  thinking,  in  his  bunk?  What's  been 
in  Maurice's  head  and  in  his  heart  all  the  years  he's 
loafed  with  the  likes  of  me  and  yet  never  fell  to 
my  level?  Anything  he  ever  read  anywhere,  do 
you  think,  or  was  it  a  warm  image  that  every  time 
he  came  ashore  and  was  lucky  enough  to  get  a 
look  at  you  he  could  see  was  true  to  the  woman 
it  stood  for?  When  you  had  no  more  idea  of  it 
than  what  was  going  on  at  the  North  Pole  he  was 
watching  you — and  thinking  of  you.  Always 
thinking  of  you,  Miss  Foster.  He  never  thought 
he  had  a  chance.  I  know  him.  Who  asks  a 
woman  like  you  to  share  a  fisherman's  life?  Is  it 

275 


The  Seiners 

a  man  like  Maurice?  Sometimes — maybe  with 
the  blood  racing  through  him  after  a  great  race  he 
might.  A  while  ago  he  did,  Miss  Foster.  And 
what  gave  him  the  courage  ? 

"Listen  to  me  now,  Miss  Foster,  and  say  what 
you  please  afterward.  Maurice  and  I  are  friends. 
Friends.  IVe  been  with  him  on  the  bottom  of  a 
capsized  dory  when  we  both  expected  we'd  hauled 
our  last  trawl — with  the  seas  washing  over  us  and 
we  both  getting  weak  and  him  getting  black  in 
the  face — and  maybe  I  was,  too.  I  told  you  this 
once  before,  but  let  me  tell  it  again.  'Come  and 
take  the  plug  strap,  Tommie,'  he  says  to  me. 
'Come  and  take  the  plug  strap.'  Do  you  know 
what  that  means,  Miss  Foster? — and  the  seas 
sweeping  over  you  and  your  whole  body  getting 
numb?  And  I've  been  with  him  four  days  and 
four  nights — astray  in  the  fog  of  the  Western 
Banks  in  winter,  and,  for  all  we  knew  and  be 
lieved,  we  were  gone.  In  times  like  those  men  get 
to  know  each  other,  and  I  tell  you,  Miss  Fos 
ter — "  Clancy  choked  and  stopped.  "To-day 
he  sailed  a  race  the  like  of  which  was  never  sailed 
before.  A  dozen  times  he  took  the  chance  of  him 
self  going  over  the  rail.  And  why?  The  better 
to  keep  an  eye  on  things  and  help  his  vessel  along? 
Yes.  But  why  that?  For  that  cup  we've  drowned 
a  dozen  times  in  wine  to-day?  He  never  looked 

276 


Clancy  Lays  Down  the  Law 

twice  at  it  when  he  got  ashore.  He  hasn't  seen  it 
since  he  handed  it  to  me  on  the  dock.  The  boys 
might  like  to  look  at  it,  he  said.  He's  forgot  he 
ever  won  it  by  now.  He  let  us  take  it  up  to  a 
rum-shop  and  drink  out  of  it  the  same  as  if  it  was 
a  tin-pail — the  beautiful  gold  and  silver  cup — en 
graved.  We  used  it  for  a  growler  for  all  Maurice 
cared  for  the  value  of  it,  and  there's  forty  men 
walking  the  streets  now  that's  got  a  list  they  got 
out  of  that  cup.  We  might  have  lost  it,  battered 
each  other's  drunken  heads  in  with  it,  and  he 
wouldn't  have  said  a  dozen  words  about  it.  But 
there  was  a  necklace  of  pearls,  and  he  thought  you'd 
like  them.  'To  you,  Maurice,  for  winning  the 
race,'  says  Mr.  Duncan,  'for  winning  the  race,' 
and  hands  Maurice  the  pearls — your  own  guar 
dian,  Miss  Foster,  and  most  crazy,  he  was  that 
pleased.  And  that's  what  Maurice  ran  up  to  get 
when  the  race  was  over — there  was  something  a 
girl  might  like,  or  thought  so.  And  then  what? 
On  the  way  down  a  woman  that  I  know — that  you 
know — tried  to  hold  him  up.  Kissed  him  before  a 
hundred  people — she  knew  you  were  waiting — she 
knew,  trust  a  woman — and  walked  down  part  way 
with  him,  because  you  were  looking.  And  he  being 
a  man,  and  weak,  and  only  twenty-six — and  the 
racing  blood  still  running  through  him — maybe 
forgot  himself  for  five  minutes — not  knowing  you 

277 


The  Seiners 

were  within  a  mile.  That  doesn't  excuse  him  ?  No, 
you're  right,  it  don't.  But  he,  poor  boy,  knowing 
nothing — what  does  a  boy  of  twenty-six  know? — 
knowing  nothing — suspecting  nothing — and  yet,  if 
he  forgot  himself,  he  never  really  forgot  you.  He 
hurries  on  to  you  and  offers  you  the  necklace  that 
he  risked  his  life  to  get.  And  you — what  did  you 
say?" 

"What  did  I  say?  I  told  him  that  perhaps  he 
knew  somebody  that  he'd  rather  give  it  to  before 
me " 

"Before  you?  There's  a  woman.  You're  not 
satisfied  when  a  man  fights  all  the  devil  in  him 
self  for  you,  but  you  must  rub  it  into  him  while 
he's  doing  it.  Maurice — or  maybe  you  don't  un 
derstand.  You  could  say  things  like  that  to  a  dog 
— if  a  dog  could  understand — and  he'd  come  back 
and  lick  your  hand.  Maurice  has  blood  and  fire  in 
him.  And  here's  a  woman — whatever  else  she  is — 
is  warm-blooded  too.  She  wants  Maurice,  and, 
by  God,  she'll  get  him  if  you  keep  on.  Do  you  re 
member  the  night  of  the  Master  Mariners'  ball — 
the  night  before  we  sailed  on  the  Southern  cruise? 
Well,  that  night  this  woman,  she  waits  for  Maurice 
and  stops  him  on  his  way  home.  But  she  didn't 
get  him.  He  was  up  in  the  wind  for  a  minute  or 
two,  but  one  spoke  of  the  wheel  and  he  found  his 
head  again.  Again  last  June  in  Newport  on  a 

278 


Clancy  Lays  Down  the  Law 

warm  summer's  night — flowers,  music,  wine — the 
cabin  of  a  beautiful  yacht — she  asks  him  to  wait 
over  a  day  or  two  in  Newport  harbor.  Does  he  ? 
Does  he?  Not  Maurice.  With  never  a  touch  of 
the  wheel,  off  he  swings  and  drives  for  home.  And 
why  didn't  he  stay?  Why,  do  you  suppose? 
Didn't  he  tell  you  a  while  ago?  Good  God!  Look 
here — you're  no  fool.  Look  at  me — ten  years  ago 
I  was  another  Maurice.  And  this  woman — I  tell 
you  she  knows  men.  She  don't  care  whether  a 
man  is  rich  or  poor,  tall  or  short,  thin  or  fat,  so 
long  as  she  likes  him.  And  I  tell  you  she  loves 
Maurice — as  well  as  she  can  love — and  she's  not 
a  good  enough  woman — there  it  is.  And  they're 
all  saying  you're  likely  to  marry  Withrow.  Wait 
now.  Withrow,  I'm  telling  you,  isn't  fit  to  wash 
the  gurry  off  Maurice's  jack-boots.  I'm  a  careless 
man,  Miss  Foster,  and  in  my  life  I've  done  things 
I  wish  now  I  hadn't,  but  I  draw  the  line  above  the 
head  of  a  man  like  Withrow.  Whatever  I  am, 
I'm  too  good  to  be  company  for  Fred  Withrow. 
And  on  top  of  all  that  he's  so  carried  away  with 
this  other  woman — this  same  woman — and  she 
caring  more  for  Maurice's  eyelash  than  Withrow's 
whole  two  hundred  and  ten  pounds — Withrow  is 
so  carried  away  with  her  that  he  is  ready  to  elope 
with  her — elope  with  her!  I  know  that — never 
mind  how.  Bring  Withrow  and  me  together,  ancj 

279 


The  Seiners 

I'll  tell  him — tell  him,  yes,  and  throw  him  through 
the  door  afterward  if  he  denies  it.  This  woman 
is  enough  of  a  woman  to  want  Maurice — Maurice 
with  nothing  at  all — before  Withrow  with  all  he's 
got  and  all  he  can  get  her  or  give  her — and  she's 
clever  enough  to  come  pretty  near  getting  what 
she  wants.  And  now,  Miss  Foster,  suppose  you 
think  it  over.  I'm  going  to  hunt  up  Maurice, 
though  I'm  not  too  sure  we'll  find  him  in  a  hurry. 
Good-by." 

He  swept  his  sou'wester  wide  to  her  and  went 
out  the  door.  I  said  good-by  without  looking  at 
her.  I  was  too  ashamed — and  went  after  Clancy. 
But  I  think  she  was  crying  to  herself  as  I  went 
out. 


280 


XXXVI 

MAURICE  BLAKE  IS  RECALLED 

morning  after  the  race  I  was  eating 
A  breakfast  at  home  and  I  could  not  re 
member  when  I  enjoyed  a  meal  like  that  one.  I 
had  had  a  fine  long  sleep  and  the  sleep  that  comes 
to  a  man  after  he's  been  through  a  long  and  ex 
citing  experience  does  make  him  feel  like  a  world- 
beater.  I  felt  that  I  could  go  out  and  about  leap 
the  length  of  a  seine-boat  or  rip  up  a  plank  side 
walk.  It  was  worth  while  to  be  alive,  and  every 
thing  tasted  so  good. 

I  had  put  away  six  fried  eggs  and  about  four 
teen  of  those  little  slices  of  bacon  before  I  even 
thought  of  slacking  up  (with  my  mother  piling 
them  up  as  fast  as  I  lifted  them  off) — and  maybe 
I  wouldn't  have  slacked  then  only  my  cousin  Nell 
came  skipping  in. 

She  kissed  my  mother  half  a  dozen  times,  and 
danced  around  the  room.  "Four  vessels  off  the 
Johnnie  Duncan's  model  have  already  been  or 
dered.  Four,  auntie — four.  There  will  be  a  fleet 
of  them  yet,  you'll  see.  And  how  are  you,  Joe?" 

"Fine,"  I  said,  and  kept  on  eating. 
281 


The  Seiners 

Nell  didn't  like  my  not  noticing  How  glad  she 
was  feeling,  I  suppose,  for  all  at  once,  as  I  was 
about  to  sugar  another  cup  of  coffee,  she  ran  her 
hands  through  my  hair  and  yanked  till  I  couldn't 
pretend  any  longer. 

"There,  now,  with  your  mind  off  your  stomach, 
perhaps  you'll  look  up  and  converse  when  a  lady 
deigns  to  notice  you.  How  much  money  did  Mr. 
Withrow  lose  on  the  race?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  it  was  a  good  pile;  I  know 
that." 

"And  how  much  did  Mr.  Duncan  win?" 

"I  don't  know  that,  either;  but  I  hope  it  was  a 
good  roll,  for  he  won  about  all  Withrow  lost." 

"M-m — but  aren't  you  in  love  with  your  old 
employer?  But  let's  not  mind  common  money 
matters.  What  do  you  think  of  the  Johnnie  Dun 
can  for  a  vessel?" 

"She's  a  dog— a  dog." 

"Isn't  she!  And  the  fastest,  able-est  and  the 
handsomest  vessel  that  ever  sailed  past  Eastern 
Point,  isn't  she?" 

"That's  what  she  is." 

"And  who  designed  her?" 

"Who  ?    Let  me  see.    Oh,  yes,  some  local  man." 

"You  don't  know!  Look  up  here.  Who  de 
signed  her!" 

"Oh,  yes.    'Twas  a  Gloucester  man." 


Maurice  Blake  is  Recalled 

"A  Gloucester  man?  Look  up  again.  Now — 
who — de — signed — the — John — nie  —  Dun  — 
can!" 

"Ouch,  yes.  A  ver-y  fine  and  a-ble — and  hand 
some  gen-tle-man — a  wonderful  man." 

"That's  a  little  better.    And  his  name?" 

"William  Somers — William  the  Illustrious — 
William  the  First — 'First  in  war,  first  in  peace, 
and  first  in  the  hearts  of  Gloucestermen' — and  if 
you  let  me  stand  up,  I'll  do  a  break-down  to  show 
you  how  glad  I  am." 

"Now  you're  showing  something  like  apprecia 
tion.  And  now  where  do  you  suppose  your  friend 
Clancy  is  and  your  skipper?" 

"Clancy?  Lord  knows.  Maybe  in  a  circle  of 
admiring  friends,  singing  whatever  is  his  latest. 
'Hove  flat  down'  was  the  last  I  heard.  If  it  was 
earlier  in  the  day — about  three  in  the  morning — 
it  would  be  pretty  sure  to  be  that." 

"What  a  pity,  and  he  such  a  fine  man  other- 


wise!' 


"What's  a  pity?" 

"Why,  his  getting  drunk,  as  I  hear  he  does  very 
often." 

"Gets  drunk?  Who  gets  drunk?  Clancy? 
That's  news  to  me.  As  long  as  I've  known  him  I 
never  saw  him  drunk  yet.  He  gets  mellow  and 
loose — but  drunk!  Clancy  drunk?  Why,  Nell!" 

283 


The  Seiners 

"Oh,  well,  all  right,  he's  an  apostle  of  temper 
ance  then.  But  Captain  Blake — where  is  he?" 

"I  couldn't  say — why?" 

"I  have  a  message  for  him." 

"Did  you  try  his  boarding-house?" 

"Yes.  That  is,  Will  did,  and  he  wasn't  there, 
hadn't  been  there  at  all,  they  said,  since  the  after 
noon  before." 

"That  so?  Where  else  did  you  try?  Duncan's 
office?" 

"We  did,  and  no  word  of  him  there." 

"Try  Clancy's  boarding-house?" 

"Yes,  and  no  word." 

"Try — h-m — the  Anchorage?" 

"Oh,  Joe,  you  don't  think  he's  been  loafing  there 
since?" 

"No,  I  don't.  And  yet  after  the  way  he  got 
turned  down  yesterday,  you  know — there's  no 
telling  what  a  man  might  do." 

"Well,  Will  looked  in  there,  too." 

"You  fat  little  fox !  Why  didn't  you  say  that  at 
first?  And  no  word?" 

"No." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  where  he'd  be  then." 

"Nor  I,  except — did  you  notice  the  wind  has 
hauled  to  the  northwest?" 

"I  did." 

"Well.  Do  you  know  that  old  vessel  that  Mr. 
284 


Maurice  Blake  is  Recalled 

Withrow's  been  trying  to  get  a  crew  for — the 
Flamingo?" 

"M-h-h." 

"Well,  this  morning  early  she  went  out — on  a 
hand-lining  trip  to  the  eastward,  it  is  said.  And 
Will  says  that  he  thinks — he  doesn't  know,  mind 
you,  because  they  won't  tell  him  anything  down  to 
Withrow's — but  he  thinks  that  Maurice  Blake's 
shipped  in  her." 

"Wow!  She  won't  last  out  one  good  breeze 
on  the  Banks." 

"That  is  just  what  Will  said.  And  it's  too  bad, 
for  I  had  a  message  for  him — a  message  that 
would  make  everything  all  right.  I  suppose  you 
can  guess?" 

"Guess?     H-m-m —     I  don't  know  as  I  want 


to." 


"Well,  don't  get  mad  about  it,  anyway.  How 
would  you  feel  if  you  saw  that  horrid  Minnie 
Arkell  rush  up  and —  Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean. 
However,  I've  been  pleading  with  Alice  since  yes 
terday  afternoon.  For  two  hours  I  was  up  in  her 
room  last  evening,  and  poor  Will  walking  the 
veranda  down  below.  I  put  Captain  Blake's  case 
as  I  thought  a  friend  of  his  would  put  it — as  you 
would  put  it,  say — perhaps  better  in  some  ways — 
for  I  could  not  forget  that  he  sailed  the  Johnnie 
Duncan  yesterday,  and  her  winning  meant  so  much 

285 


The  Seiners 

to  Will.  Yes,  and  I'm  not  forgetting  Clancy  and 
the  rest  of  her  crew — indeed,  I'm  not — I  felt  as 
though  I  could  kiss  every  one  of  them." 

"Well,  here's  one  of  them." 

"Don't  get  saucy  because  your  mother  is  stand 
ing  by.  Go  and  find  Maurice  Blake.  Go  ahead, 
won't  you,  Joe?  Tell  him  that  everything  is  all 
right.  She  is  proud." 

"That's  a  nice  sounding  word  for  it — pride. 
Stuck  on  herself  is  what  I'd  say." 

"No,  she  isn't.  You  must  allow  a  woman  self- 
respect,  you  know." 

"I  guess  so.  And  it  must  be  her  long  suit,  see 
ing  she's  always  leading  from  it." 

"Oh,  keep  your  fishermen's  jokes  for  the  mug- 
ging-up  times  on  your  vessel.  You  go  and  get 
Maurice  Blake — or  find  Mr.  Clancy  and  have  him 
get  him — if  he  hasn't  gone  on  the  Flamingo." 

So  I  went  out.  On  a  cruise  along  the  water 
front  I  found  a  whole  lot  of  people.  I  saw  Wesley 
Marrs  and  Tommie  Ohlsen — sorrowful  and  neither 
saying  much — looking  after  their  vessels — Ohlsen 
seeing  to  a  new  gaff.  "I  ought  to've  lost,"  said 
Ohlsen.  "Look  at  that  for  a  rotten  piece  of  wood." 
Sam  Hollis  was  around,  too,  trying  to  explain  how 
it  was  he  didn't  win  the  race.  But  he  couldn't  ex 
plain  to  anybody's  satisfaction  how  his  stays'l  went 
nor  why  he  hove-to  when  that  squall  struck  him — 

286 


Maurice  Blake  is  Recalled 

the  same  squall  that  shot  the  Johnnie  Duncan 
across  the  line.  Tom  O'Donnell  was  there,  looking 
down  on  the  deck  of  the  vessel  in  which  he  took  so 
much  pride.  "Two  holes  in  her  deck  where  her 
spars  ought  to  be,"  he  was  saying  when  I  came 
along.  I  asked  him  if  he  had  seen  Maurice  that 
morning,  and  it  was  from  him  I  learned  for  certain 
that  Maurice  had  shipped  on  the  Flamingo.  "I 
didn't  see  her  leaving,  boy,  but  Withrow  himself 
told  me  this  morning.  'And  I  hope  he'll  never 
come  back,1  he  said  at  the  same  time.  *  'Tis  you 
that  takes  a  licking  hard.  But  maybe  'tis  the  in 
surance,'  I  says.  'If  that's  what  you're  thinking,' 
says  he,  'she  isn't  insured.'  'Then  it  must  be  the 
divil's  own  repair  she's  in  when  no  company  at  all 
will  insure  her,'  I  says.  Sure,  we  had  hard  words 
over  it,  but  that  won't  bring  back  Maurice — he's 
gone  in  the  Flamingo,  Joe." 

I  went  after  Clancy  then,  and  after  a  long  chase, 
that  took  me  to  Boston  and  back,  I  caught  up  with 
him.  He  was  full  of  repentance  and  was  gloomy. 
It  was  up  in  his  boarding-house — in  his  room. 
He,  looking  tired,  was  thinking  of  taking  a  kink 
of  sleep. 

"Hulloh,  Joe!  And  I  don't  wonder  you  look 
surprised,  Joe.  I  must  be  getting  old.  Thursday 
morning  I  got  up  after  as  fine  a  night's  sleep  as  a 
man'd  want.  That  was  Thursday.  Then  Thurs- 

287 


The  Seiners 

day  night,  Friday,  Friday  night,  Saturday — two 
nights  and  three  days,  and  I'm  sleepy  already. 
Sleepy,  Joe,  and  I  remember  the  time  I  could  go 
a  whole  week,  and  then,  after  a  good  night's  sleep, 
wake  up  fine  and  daisy  and  be  ready  for  another 
week.  Joe,  there's  a  moral  in  that  if  you  can  only 
work  it  out." 

Clancy  stayed  silent  after  that,  not  inclined  to 
talk,  I  could  see,  until  I  told  him  about  Maurice 
having  shipped  in  the  Flamingo  and  the  hard  crew 
that  had  gone  in  her. 

That  stirred  him.  "Great  Lord,  gone  in  that 
shoe-box!  Why,  Joe,  I'd  as  soon  put  to  sea  in  a 
market  basket  calked  with  butter.  And  the  man 
that's  got  her — Dave  Warner!  He's  crazy,  Joe, 
if  ever  a  man  was  crazy.  Clean  out  of  his  head 
over  a  girl  that  he  met  in  Gloucester  once,  but  now 
living  in  Halifax,  and  she  won't  have  anything  to 
do  with  him.  He's  daffy  over  her.  If  she  was 
drowning  alongside  you'd  curse  your  luck  because 
you  had  to  gaff  her  in.  That  is,  you  would  only 
she's  a  woman,  of  course.  Wants  to  get  lost,  Joe, 
I  believe — wants  to !  If  this  was  Boston  or  New 
York  and  in  older  days,  I'd  say  that  Dave  and 
Withrow  must  have  shanghaied  a  crew  to  man  the 
Flamingo's  kind.  But  you  c'n  get  men  here  to 
go  in  anything  sometimes.  Wait  a  bit  and  I'll  be 
along  with  you.  We'll  see  old  Duncan  and  maybe 
we  c'n  head  the  Flamingo  off." 

288 


XXXVII 

THE  GIRL  IN  CANSO 

THAT  was  Saturday  evening.  The  crew  of 
the  Johnnie  had  been  told  just  after  the  race 
by  the  skipper  that  he  would  not  need  them  again 
until  Monday.  Scattering  on  that,  some  going  to 
Boston,  they  could  not  be  got  together  again  until 
Monday  morning,  and  it  was  not  until  Monday 
noon  that  we  got  away. 

We  fitted  out  as  though  for  a  Cape  Shore  sein 
ing  trip,  and  that's  what  we  were  to  do  in  case  we 
missed  the  Flamingo  or  could  not  persuade  her 
skipper  or  Maurice  himself  that  he  ought  to  leave 
her  and  come  back  on  the  Johnnie  Duncan.  It 
was  Clancy  who  had  the  matter  in  charge.  Indeed, 
it  was  only  Clancy  who  knew  what  it  was  really 
all  about. 

We  had  a  good  run-off  before  a  stiff  westerly 
that  gradually  hauled  to  the  north,  and  Tuesday 
night  late  saw  us  in  Halifax  Harbor.  It  was  too 
late  to  do  anything  that  night,  but  Clancy  went 
ashore  to  find  out  what  he  could.  Before  sunrise 
he  was  back  with  word  to  break  out  the  anchor 
and  put  to  sea.  He  had  word  of  the  Flamingo. 

289 


The  Seiners 

"That  girl  of  Dave's — it  seems  she's  moved  to 
Canso  with  her  folks,  and  Dave's  gone  there.  He's 
probably  there  before  this — maybe  left  again. 
She's  an  old  plug,  the  Flamingo,  but  she  ought've 
made  Canso  before  this.  He  only  stayed  a  few 
hours  here  and  left  Monday." 

It  was  bang,  bang,  bang  all  the  way  to  Canso, 
with  Clancy  swearing  at  Withrow  and  the  Fla 
mingo  and  Dave  Warner  and  the  girl  in  the  case 
— one  after  the  other  and  sometimes  all  together. 
"Blast  Withrow  and  that  crazy  fool  Dave  War 
ner,  too.  And  why  in  the  devil  couldn't  her  folks 
stayed  in  Gloucester — or  in  Halifax,  at  least. 
They  ought've  put  a  few  sticks  of  dynamite  in  her 
and  blown  her  to  pieces  ages  ago.  She's  forty 
years  old  if  she's  a  day — her  old  planks  rotten. 
They  won't  keep  her  afloat  overnight  if  they're 
out  in  this.  Why  d'y's'pose  people  leave  a  good 
lively  little  city  like  Halifax  to  go  to  a  place  like 
Canso?  Why?" 

Andie  Howe  happened  to  be  within  hearing, 
and  "Maybe  the  rent's  cheaper,"  suggested  Andie. 

"Maybe  it  is — and  maybe  if  you  don't  talk  sense 
I'll  heave  you  over  the  rail  some  fine  day.  Better 
give  her  a  grain  more  fore-sheet.  Man,  but  it's  a 
wicked  night." 

We  made  Canso  after  the  worst  day  and  night 
we  had  had  in  the  Johnnie  Duncan  since  she  was 

290 


The  Girl  in  Canso 

launched.  Outside  Canso  Harbor  it  looked  bad. 
We  didn't  think  the  skipper  would  try  to  enter  the 
harbor  that  black  night,  but  he  did.  "Got  to  go 
in  and  get  news,"  said  Clancy,  and  in  we  went.  It 
was  as  black  as  could  be — squalls  sweeping  down — 
and  Canso  is  not  the  easiest  harbor  in  the  world 
to  make  at  night. 

I  went  ashore  with  Clancy  to  hear  what  the 
young  woman  might  have  to  say.  We  found  her 
in  a  place  run  by  her  father,  a  sort  of  lodging  house 
and  "pub,"  with  herself  serving  behind  the  bar — 
a  bold-looking  young  woman,  not  over-neat — and 
yet  attractive  in  her  way — good  figure,  regular 
features,  and  good  color.  "There,  Joe,  if  you 
brought  a  girl  like  that  home  your  mother  would 
probably  die  of  a  broken  heart,  but  there's  the  kind 
that  a  foolish  man  like  Dave  Warner  would  sell  his 
soul  for."  Then  Clancy  explained  while  we  were 
waiting  for  her  to  see  us  privately,  "I  don't  know 
if  she'll  remember  me,  but  I  met  her  two  or  three 
times  in  Gloucester." 

When  she  came  in  she  recognized  Clancy  right 
away.  "How  do  you  do,  Captain  Clancy?" 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Luce?  My  friend,  Mr. 
Buckley.  Now  what  we've  come  for — but  first, 
suppose  we  have  a  little  something  by  way  of  so 
ciability.  A  little  fizzy  stuff,  say,  and  some  good 
tigars,  Miss  Luce." 

291 


The  Seiners 

She  brought  the  wine  and  the  cigars.  Clancy 
pulled  the  cork,  filled  both  glasses,  pushed  one 
glass  toward  the  young  woman  and  drew  one  to 
himself. 

"But,  Captain,  your  friend  hasn't  any." 

"My  friend,"  said  Clancy,  "doesn't  drink.  The 
last  thing  the  doctor  said  to  him  before  we  came 
away  was,  'Don't  touch  a  drop  of  liquor  or  your 
life  will  pay  the  forfeit.'  You  see,  Miss  Luce,  he's 
been  a  dissipated  youth — drink — and  having  been 
dissipated  and  coming  of  delicate  people,  it's  af 
fected  his  health." 

"You  don't  tell  me?  I'm  sure  he  doesn't  look 
it." 

"No,  he  don't — that's  a  fact.    But  so  it  is." 

"Stomach?"  she  asked  me. 

"No — heart,"  answered  Clancy  for  me.  "What 
they  call  an  aneurism.  You  know  what  an  aneur 
ism  is,  of  course?" 

"Yes-yes— oh,  yes " 

"Of  course.    Well,  he's  got  one  of  them." 

"That's  too  bad.    So  he  only  smokes  instead?" 

"That's  all.     Here,  Joe,  smoke  up." 

"My,  I  always  thought  smoking  was  bad  for  the 
heart." 

"It  is — for  everything  except  aneurisms.  Smok- 
ing's  the  death  of  aneurisms.  Have  another  cigar, 
Joe.  And  Miss  Luce,  shall  we  exchange  a  health?" 

292 


The  Girl  in  Canso 

"But  I  never  drank  anything  in  all  my  life." 

"Of  course  not.  But  you  will  now,  won't  you? 
Consider  the  occasion  and  I'm  sure  you  won't 
let  me  drink  alone.  And  I've  come  so  far  to 
see  you,  too — only  of  course  not —  Well,  here's 
to  your  good  health,  and  may  you  live  long 
and " 

The  rest  of  it  was  smothered  in  the  gurgle.  And 
nobody  would  ever  think  to  see  the  way  she  put 
down  hers  that  Miss  Luce  had  never  had  a  drink 
of  wine  before. 

"And  now,  Miss  Luce,  may  I  ask  how  long  it 
has  been  since  your  friend  Dave  Warner  left " 

uOh-h —    Dave  Warner?    He's  no  friend  of 


mine." 


"Isn't  he?  Well,  he's  no  particular  friend  of 
mine,  either.  But  a  friend  of  mine — of  both  of  us, 
Joe  here,  too — is  with  Dave — Maurice  Blake. 
Any  word  of  him?" 

"Oh,  yes.  A  good-looking  fellow,  nice  eyes  and 
hair  and  nice  manners.  I  do  like  to  see  refined 
manners  in  people.  Now  if  it  was  him " 

"If  it  was  him,  you  wouldn't  have  told  him  to 
go  to  sea  and  the  devil  take  him " 

"I'd  have  you  know,  Captain  Clancy,  I  don't 


swear." 


"Swear?     You,  Miss  Luce?     Dear  me,  what 
ever  made  you  think  I  thought  that?     But  let's 

293 


The  Seiners 

have  another  taste  of  wine.  But  of  course  you 
didn't  encourage  Dave  to  stay  ashore  here?" 

"Him? — I  guess  not.  When  he  said  he  didn't 
care  if  he  never  came  back,  I  told  him  I  was  sure 
I  didn't — and  out  he  went." 

"O  woman,  gentle  woman,"  murmured  Clancy 
in  his  glass,  "especially  real  ladies.  But  Dave 
never  did  know  how  to  talk  to  a  lady." 

"I  should  say  he  didn't." 

"No,    not    Dave.     And   so    his    money    gone 

I       >  M 

"Money?    Why,  he  never  had  any  money." 

"Well,  that's  bad.  Not  even  enough  to  open  a 
bottle  of  wine  to  drink  a  lady's  health?" 

"Bottle  of  wine?  No,  nor  a  thimbleful  of  tup 
penny  ale." 

"That  was  bad,  Miss  Luce.  Dave  ought Ve 
come  better  heeled 

'  And  so  his  money  gone  he  puts  out  to  sea- 
It  may  happen  to  you  or  happen  to  me.' 

And  which  way  did  he  say  he  was  going?" 

"He  didn't  say  and  I  didn't  ask,  though  one  of 
the  men  with  him  said  something  about  going  to 
the  Grand  Banks." 

"Grand  Banks,  eh?  That's  comforting — it 
isn't  more  than  a  couple  of  days'  sail  from  here 
to  the  nearest  edge  of  it,  and  twenty-odd  thousand 
or  more  square  miles  of  shoal  water  to  hunt  over 

294 


The  Girl  in  Canso 

after  you  get  there.  Had  they  taken  their  bait 
aboard,  did  you  hear,  Miss  Luce?" 

"Yes,  they  had.  That  was  yesterday  afternoon 
late.  His  vessel  was  leaking  then,  I  heard  him  say 
to  that  nice-looking  man — Maurice  Blake  his 
name,  did  you  say?  A  nice  name  Maurice,  isn't 
it?  Well,  he  said  to  Maurice  going  out  the  door, 
'Well,  we'll  put  out  and  I  callate — I  don't  know 
how  she'll  get  out  but  out  we'll  go  to-night.'  'The 
sooner  you  go  the  better  it  will  suit  me,'  Blake 
said,  and  they  went  off  together." 

"And  how  was  Mr.  Blake?" 

"How  do  you  mean?  How  did  he  act?  My,  I 
never  saw  such  a  man.  Wouldn't  open  his  head 
all  night — wouldn't  drink,  but  just  sat  and  smoked 
like  your  friend  there.  Anything  the  matter  with 
him?" 

"With  Maurice?  Oh,  in  the  way  of  aneur 
isms?  Not  that  I  know  of.  Oh,  yes,  he  has 
heart-trouble  too,  come  to  think.  But  I  must  be 
getting  back  to  the  vessel." 

"So  soon?" 

"Yes,  we've  got  to  go  to  sea.  I'm  like  Dave 
Warner  in  that  I'm  going  to  sea  too." 

"But  nobody's  driving  you  away."  She  had  her 
eyes  on  Clancy's  face  then. 

He  didn't  look  up — only  stared  into  his  glass. 

She  was  silent  for  a  full  minute.  Clancy  said 
295 


The  Seiners 

nothing.    "Nobody's  driving  you  away,"  she  said 
again. 

At  that  Clancy  looked  at  her.  "There's  no  tell 
ing,"  he  said  at  first,  and  then  hastily,  "Oh,  no — 
of  course  nobody's  driving  me  to  sea." 

"Then  what's  your  hurry?" 

I  got  up  and  went  to  the  door  then.  I  heard 
the  sound  of  a  scraping  chair  and  then  of  Clancy 
standing  up.  A  moment's  quiet  and  then  it  was  : 
"No,  dear,  I  can't  stay — nobody's  driving  me 
away,  I  know  that.  I'm  sure  you  wouldn't — not 
with  your  heart.  And  you've  a  good  heart  if  you'd 
only  give  it  a  chance.  But  I  can't  stay." 

"And  why  not?  You  won't,  you  mean.  Well, 
I  never  thought  you  were  that  kind  of  a  man." 

"No?  Well,  don't  go  to  giving  me  any  moral 
rating.  Don't  go  to  over-rating  me — or  maybe 
you'd  call  it  under-rating.  But  you  see,  it's  my 
friend  that's  calling." 

"And  you're  going  out  in  this  gale?" 

"Gale.  I'd  go  if  it  was  a  hundred  gales.  Good- 
by — and  take  care  of  yourself,  dear." 

"And  will  you  come  back  if  you  don't  find  him  ?" 

"Lord,  Lord,  how  can  I  say?  Can  anybody 
say  who's  coming  back  and  who  isn't?" 

He  went  by  me  and  out  the  door.  She  looked 
after  him,  but  he  never  turned — only  plunged  out 
of  the  house  and  into  the  street  and  I  right  after 
him. 

296 


XXXVIII 

THE  DUNCAN  GOES  TO  THE  WESTWARD 

GETTING  back  to  the  vessel  Clancy  was 
pretty  gloomy.  'That's  settled.  We  can't 
chase  them  as  far  to  the  eastward  as  the  big  banks — 
a  three  hundred  mile  run  to  the  nearest  edge  of  it 
and  tens  of  thousands  of  square  miles  to  hunt  over 
after  we'd  got  there.  And  it  would  be  child's  work 
anyway  to  ask  Maurice  to  leave  her  on  the  bank. 
Who'd  take  his  place  even  if  Dave  would  stand  for 
it?  'Twould  mean  laying  up  a  dory  or  taking  his 
dory-mate  too.  Maurice  wouldn't  leave  her  any 
way,  even  if  he  believed  he'd  never  get  home — no 
real  fisherman  would.  And  yet  there  it  is — Dave 
in  a  devil  of  a  mood,  and  a  vessel  according  to  all 
reports  that  won't  live  out  one  good  easterly.  And 
there's  a  crazy  crew  aboard  her  that  won't  make 
for  the  most  careful  handling  of  a  vessel.  Oh, 
Lord,  I  don't  see  anything  for  it,  but,  thank  the 
Lord,  Maurice  has  been  behaving  himself — and 
that  in  spite  of  how  blue  he  must  have  been  feeling. 
By  this  time  he's  cert'nly  made  up  his  mind  he's 
with  a  pretty  bad  crowd,  but  maybe  he's  glad  of  a 

297 


The  Seiners 

little  excitement.  What  I  don't  understand  is  how 
Dave  ever  left  old  man  Luce's  place  without  break 
ing  up  the  furniture  before  going  away.  Gen'rally 
that's  his  style.  Maybe  Maurice  being  along  had 
something  to  do  with  it — a  pretty  able  man  in  close 
quarters  is  Maurice.  Yes,  he  must  be  glad  of  the 
excitement,  but  Lord,  that  won't  save  him  from 
being  lost.  Oh,  oh,  and  now  what'll  we  do?  Let's 
see,  the  Flamingo's  on  the  way  to  the  Banks,  and 
that's  the  end  of  that  chase.  We've  got  to  wait 
now  and  see  that  she  comes  home — or  don't  come 
home — one  or  the  other.  I  told  that  girl  that  I 
was  going  to  put  out — put  out  if  it  blew  a  hundred 
gales.  And  so  I  would  if  any  good  would  come  of 
it,  but  putting  out  to  sea  a  day  like  this  because 
you  bragged  you  would — risking  your  vessel  and 
crew,  or  making  hard  work  for  them  if  nothing 
else — that  ain't  good  sense,  is  it?  Besides,  I  had 
to  tell  her  something  to  get  away  without  setting  up 
to  be  a  model  of  virtue.  What  else  could  I  do? 
Women  are  the  devil — sometimes — aren't  they, 
Joe  ?  There's  some  are.  I  suppose  it  wouldn't  do 
any  great  harm  to  head  her  for  home.  I  don't 
believe  there's  going  to  be  much  more  fish  going 
to  be  seined  this  fall — and  wouldn't  she  make  a 
passage  of  it  in  this  easterly?  Oh,  Lord,  it  would 
be  the  race  all  over  again,  only  ten  times  as  long 
a  drag." 

298 


The  Duncan  Goes  to  the  West'ard 

While  he  sat  there  in  the  cabin,  smoking  and 
meditating,  letting  us  into  his  thoughts  every  now 
and  then,  the  voices  of  some  of  our  crew  were 
heard  on  deck. 

We  all  went  up  and  got  the  word  that  was  being 
passed  around.  A  coast  steamer  had  just  come 
to  anchor  in  the  harbor  with  the  report  that  just 
outside — about  ten  miles  to  the  west'ard — was  a 
vessel,  dismasted  and  clean-swept,  and  dragging 
toward  the  rocks.  They  could  not  help  her  them 
selves — too  rough — a  hurricane  outside — to  launch 
a  boat  was  out  of  the  question.  They  didn't  mind 
taking  a  chance,  they  said,  but  to  attempt  her  rescue 
would  be  suicide. 

It  looked  like  a  pretty  hard  chance  going  out  in 
that  gale,  but  Clancy  didn't  wait.  "Nobody  else 
seems  to  be  hurrying  to  get  out,  and  we  being  the 
able-est  looking  craft  in  the  harbor,  I  callate  it's 
up  to  us  to  go."  He  got  the  exact  location  of  the 
distressed  vessel  from  the  coaster,  and  then  it  was 
up  anchor,  make  sail,  and  out  we  went. 

There  were  people  who  called  Clancy  a  fool  for 
ordering  out  his  vessel  and  risking  his  crew  that 
day — men  in  that  very  harbor — and  maybe  he  was. 
But  for  myself,  I  want  that  kind  of  a  fool  for  my 
skipper.  The  man  that  will  take  a  chance  for  a 
stranger  will  take  a  bigger  chance  for  his  own  by 
and  by. 

299, 


The  Seiners 

We  saw  her  while  we  were  yet  miles  away, 
down  to  the  west'ard — near  Whitehead  and  with 
the  cruel  stretch  of  rocks  under  her  lee  quarter. 
Even  with  plenty  of  sea-room  she  could  not  have 
lasted  long,  and  here  with  these  ledges  to  catch 
her  she  looked  to  be  in  for  a  short  shrift.  We  had 
a  good  chance  to  get  a  look  at  her  as  we  bore 
down.  Everything  was  gone  from  her  deck,  even 
the  house  and  rail.  There  was  not  as  much  loose 
wood  on  deck  as  would  make  a  tooth-pick.  After 
wards  we  learned  that  two  seas  hove  her  down  so 
that  they  had  to  cut  the  spars  away  to  right  her, 
and  then  just  as  she  was  coming  up  another  monster 
had  caught  her  and  swept  her  clean — not  only 
swept  clean,  but  stove  in  her  planks  and  started 
some  of  her  beams  so  that  she  began  to  leak  in  a 
fashion  that  four  men  to  the  pumps  could  just 
manage  to  keep  up  with. 

We  could  just  see  them — the  men  to  the  pumps 
working  desperately — with  the  others  lashed  to  the 
stumps  of  the  masts  and  the  stanchions  which  were 
left  when  the  rail  went.  Her  big  hawser  had 
parted  and  her  chain  was  only  serving  to  slightly 
check  her  way  toward  the  rocks. 

With  spars  and  deck  gear  gone  and  her  hull 
deep  in  the  water,  a  vessel  is  not  so  easily  distin 
guished.  But  there  was  something  familiar  in  this 
one.  We  had  seen  her  before.  All  at  once  it 

300 


The  Duncan  Goes  to  the  West'ard 

fashed  on  half  a  dozen  of  us — "the  Flamingo!" 
we  said.  "God!  that's  tack!"  said  Clancy. 

She  lay  in  a  sort  of  inlet  that  was  wide  open  to 
the  gale,  rocks  OB  the  better  part  of  three  sides 
of  her,  north,  south  and  west.  She  was  then  within 
all  but  striking  distance  of  the  rocks,  and  the  seas, 
high  and  wkked»  were  •weeping  over  her.  It 
looked  like  a  bad  place  to  work  out  of  if  we  should 
get  dose  in,  but  Clancy  held  on. 

"Not  much  ICMDOM,  but  plenty  of  water  under 
her  keel  anyway,'1  and  himself  ID  the  wheel,  sailed 
the  Johnnie  around  the  Flamingo.  He  hailed 
Maurice  as  he  went  by,  waved  his  hand  to  the 
others,  and  hove  a  fine  aboard.  They  took  the 
line,  hauled  in  the  hawser  at  the  cad  of  it,  made 
that  fast  to  the  windlass,  and  then  we  started  off 
with  her  in  tow. 

We  were  doing  pretty  well,  what  with  plenty  of 
wind  and  the  Johnnie  buckling  down  to  her  work 
like  she  was  a  steamer,  till  the  hawser  parted  and 
back  toward  the  rods  went  the  Flamingo  again. 

"No  use,"  said  Clancy,  "sea's  too  much  for  any 
line  we  got.  We'll  try  it  with  the  seine-boat 
Who'll  go  in  the  seine-boat  and  try  to  take  them 
off?  Think  quick,  but  mind  what  it  means." 

Every  man  of  the  crew  of  the  Johnnie  Duncan 
said,  "Here!"  The  cook  even  came  out  of  the 
forec's'le  and  put  in  his  "And  me,  too,  skipper." 

301 


The  Seiners 

"You're  good  men,"  said  Clancy, — "damn  good 
men,"  and  looked  us  up  and  down.  We  felt  proud, 
he  said  it  in  such  a  way.  "But  you're  taking  your 
lives  in  your  hands  and  some  of  you  got  wives  and 
children — mothers  or  something.  Who  hasn't 
anybody  depending  on  him  ?  Which  of  you  hasn't 
any  woman  somewhere,  or  little  brothers  or 
sisters?" 

About  twelve  of  the  sixteen  men  standing  on  the 
deck  of  the  Johnnie  Duncan  said  uMe !" 

"Three-quarters  of  you,  at  least,"  said  Clancy, 
"are  damn  liars.  Over  with  the  seine-boat  and  be 
careful  nobody  gets  hurt." 

Somebody  did  get  hurt,  though.  Andie  Howe 
got  his  foot  smashed  and  was  helped  below. 
Clancy  gave  the  rest  of  us  a  scolding  in  advance. 
"You're  not  hurt  yet,  but  some  of  you  will  be — 
like  Andie — if  you  don't  watch  out.  You'd  think 
that  some  of  you  were  out  on  some  little  pond  up 
in  the  country  somewhere  launching  a  canoe  off 
one  of  those  club-house  floats.  Keep  an  eye  out 
for  those  seas  when  they  board.  And  watch  out 
for  that  foreboom  or  some  of  you'll  have  a  head 
cut  off.  A  man  killed  or  a  man  washed  over  the 
rail — what's  the  difference — it's  a  man  lost.  Look 
out  now — watch,  you  Steve — damn  you,  watch 
out!  Over  with  it!" 

And  over  it  went  and  with  it  leaped  two  men 
302 


The  Duncan  Goes  to  the  West'ard 

before  it  could  sag  away,  while  the  rest  of  us  stood 
by  the  rail  watching  our  chance. 

"Nelson,"  called  Clancy,  "come  away  from  that 
rail !  Steve,  come  away ! — come  away,  I  say,  and 
no  back  talk.  Pat,  you  can  go — jump  in — watch 
your  chance  or  it's  the  last  of  you.  Eddie,  you  can 
go,  and  you  Bill,  and  you  Frenchy.  Joe!  stand 
away  from  that  rail  or  I'll  put  you  in  the  hold  and 
batten  the  hatches  on  you.  Now,  that's  better. 
And  that's  enough — six  men  to  the  oars  and  one 
to  steer." 

"And  who'll  steer?"  asked  somebody. 

"You'll  know  in  a  minute,"  said  Clancy,  and 
he  leaped  for  the  seine-boat  and  made  it,  and 
grabbed  the  steering  oar.  "Stand  by — push  off! 
Fend  off  in  the  vessel  there!  Steve,  if  anything 
happens — you  know — you're  to  take  the  Johnnie 
home.  Give  way,  fellows.  Now !  Watch  out ! — 
now  —  now  then,  around  with  her  —  end  on, 
and  there  she  is  like  a  bird!  And  now  drive 
her!" 

"A  bird!"  said  Clancy — but  a  wild-looking 
bird — fifty  feet  she  looked  to  be  going  into  the 
air  one  moment  and  down  out  of  sight  the  next, 
and  water  slamming  aboard  her  so  that  we  thought 
she  was  swamped  half  a  dozen  times.  Two  had 
to  leave  the  oars  and  go  to  bailing,  while  Clancy 
with  an  arm  and  shoulders  and  back  and  swinging 

303 


The  Seiners 

waist  like — well,  like  nothing  a  man  ever  had  be 
fore — kept  her  end  to  it. 

"Good  luck!"  we  called. 

"Never  fear — we'll  bring  'em  back  I"  said 
Clancy. 

"Or  stay  with  them,"  we  thought. 

But  he  didn't  stay  with  them.  It  was  a  ticklish 
job,  but  Clancy  got  away  with  it.  He  didn't  dare 
to  go  too  near  the  Flamingo,  for  that  meant  that 
the  seas  would  pitch  the  seine-boat  up  and  dash  it 
to  kindling  wood  against  her  hull.  What  he  did 
do  was  to  go  as  near  the  Flamingo  as  he  could  and 
keep  her  clear,  then  heave  a  line  aboard  and  call  to 
her  crew  one  after  the  other  to  make  it  fast  around 
themselves  and  jump  overboard.  It  took  some 
nerve  to  make  that  jump — from  the  rigging  of 
the  Duncan  we  watched  them — saw  them  shiver 
and  draw  up — these  were  men  accustomed  to  face 
danger — reckless  men — but  the  shiver  was  over 
in  a  breath,  and  then  over  the  rail  and  into  that 
sea — a  game  fight — and  they  were  hauled  into  the 
seine-boat.  Some  of  them  we  thought  would  never 
make  it,  for  it  was  an  awful  sea. 

As  fast  as  one  of  the  Flamingo's  men  made  the 
seine-boat  he  was  set  to  work  bailing  out  or  taking 
a  haul  at  the  oars,  for  it  was  a  difficult  matter  in 
that  sea  to  keep  the  seine-boat  at  the  right  distance 
from  the  Flamingo.  But  they  got  them  all — ten 

304 


The  Duncan  Goes  to  the  Westward 

of  them.  Two  were  hauled  in  unconscious,  but 
came  to  after  awhile. 

To  get  aboard  the  Johnnie  again  was  almost  as 
bad  as  to  get  into  the  seine-boat  from  the  Flamingo. 
But  we  managed  it.  Long  Steve  was  swept  over 
while  we  were  at  it,  but  we  got  him  back  with  the 
help  of  Maurice  Blake  and  another  of  the  Fla 
mingo's  crowd.  By  smart  clever  work  they 
grabbed  Steve  before  he  could  go  down  and 
hauled  him  into  the  seine-boat. 

When  they  were  all  safe  aboard  the  Duncan 
Clancy  shook  hands  with  Maurice.  "I  call  that 
luck,  Maurice — to  come  out  to  save  a  stranger  and 
find  you've  saved  your  own.  And  now  whose  trick 
to  the  wheel — you,  Joe  ?  Put  her  on  the  off-shore 
tack  till  we're  well  clear  of  that  headland — maybe 
we  c'n  make  it  in  one  leg.  No?  Then  a  short 
tack  and  have  an  eye  out  for  the  ledges — not  too 
close.  And  Maurice,  go  below — you  and  Dave 
and  all  hands  of  you,  and  we'll  get  out  dry  clothes 
for  you.  Man,  but  you  must  be  cold  and  hungry, 
but  the  cook's  getting  coffee  and  grub  ready.  And 
for  the  Duncan's  crew — on  deck  all  hands  and  put 
the  tops'ls  to  her.  For,  Maurice-boy,  we're  going 
home — going  home,  Maurice — where  there's  peo 
ple  waiting  for  you.  Hang  on  a  while  longer, 
Joe,  and  I'll  take  her  myself." 

No  need  to  tell  me  to  hang  on.  If  I  hadn't  hung 
305 


The  Seiners 

on  or  been  lashed  to  the  wheel  I  could  never  have 
kept  my  feet,  for  at  this  time  it  was  so  bad  that 
they  had  passed  a  line  from  my  waist  to  the 
windward  bitt  and  I  was  up  to  my  waist  with  every 
dive  of  her. 

"Lord,  she's  a  dog,  ain't  she !  If  old  man  Dun 
can  could  see  her  now !  Remember  Tom  O'Don- 
nell  singing  that  song  the  other  night  : 

'West  half-no'the  and  drive  her — we're  abreast  now  of  Cape 

Sable— 
'Tis  an  everlasting  hurricane,  but  here's  the  craft  that's  able.' 

We're  not  abreast  of  Cape  Sable  yet,  but  it  won't 
take  us  too  many  hours  at  this  clip.  And  here's  the 
craft  that's  able.  Man,  wouldn't  it  be  fine  if  Tom 
O'Donnell  himself  was  with  us  and  the  pair  of  us 
racing  home  ?  Let  me  take  the  wheel,  Joe.  And 
go  for'ard  and  have  a  mug-up  for  yourself — and 
have  a  care  going,  Joe,  for  it's  leaping  she  is  now 
and  seas  that'd  lift  you  a  cable's  length  to  looard 
if  ever  they  caught  you  fair.  That's  it — oh,  but 
if  your  mother  could  see  you  now,  Joe,  it's  never 
to  sea  you'd  come  again." 

I  made  my  way  for'ard.  A  dash  between  the 
house  and  windward  rail,  a  shoot  for  the  mainmast 
and  holding  on  there  for  awhile.  Another  dive 
for  the  gripes  on  the  dories,  another  shoot  between 
rail  and  dories,  a  grip  of  the  bow  gripes,  a  swing 

306 


The  Duncan  Goes  to  the  West'ard 

around  and  I  was  at  the  forecYle  hatch.    Here  I 
thought  I  heard  him  call  and  looked  aft. 

He  had  a  leg  either  side  of  the  wheel,  standing 
full  height  and  sawing  the  spokes  a  bit  up  and 
down  to  get  the  feel  of  her.  The  life  line  was 
trailing  from  his  waist  to  the  bitt — the  clear  white 
sea  was  up  to  his  middle  and  racing  over  the  taff- 
rail.  He  had  cast  away  his  mitts  the  better  to  grip 
the  spokes,  and  even  as  I  looked  he  took  off  his 
sou'wester  and  sent  it  scaling.  The  wind  taking 
hold  of  it  must  have  carried  it  a  quarter  a  mile  to 
leeward.  Watching  it  go,  himself  looking  out 
under  the  boom,  he  laughed — laughed — such  a 
roar  of  a  laugh — stamped  his  feet  and  began  to 
sing: 

"  Oh,  I  love  old  Ocean's  smile, 

I  love  old  Ocean's  frowning — 
My  love's  for  Ocean  all  the  while, 

My  prayer's  for  death  by  drowning." 

The  devil  was  in  him  then.     "Did  you  call  me, 
skipper?"  I  sang  out. 

"Did  I?  Did  I?  Lord,  Joe,  I  don't  know. 
Maybe  I  did.  I  feel  like  calling  from  here  to 
Gloucester,  and  if  I  did  I  bet  they'd  hear  me. 
God,  Joe,  but  it's  good  to  be  alive,  isn't  it? — just 
to  be  alive.  Whew !  but  I  wish  I  had  a  few  more 
sou'westers — just  to  see  'em  scale.  But  what  was 
it  I  wanted — but  is  the  cook  there?" 

307 


The  Seiners 

"He  is — I  c'n  hear  him  talking." 
Then  go  below  and  tell  him,  Joe — tell  him  to 
mouse  his  pots  and  kettles,  for  with  sail  alow  and 
sail  aloft,  with  her  helmsman  lashed  and  her  house 
awash,  in  a  living  gale  and  the  devil's  own  sea, 
the  Johnnie  Duncan's  going  to  the  westward." 

And  she  certainly  went. 


* 


308 


XXXIX 

THE  HEART  OF  CLANCY 

THAT  trip  ended  seining  for  the  Duncan  that 
year.  Everything  went  well  with  our 
friends,  after  we  got  home.  It  was  late  in  the 
season,  and  Maurice  Blake  was  to  stay  ashore  to 
get  married,  for  one  thing.  He  had  made  a  great 
season  of  it  and  could  afford  to.  So  the  Johnnie 
Duncan  was  fitted  out  for  fresh  halibuting  and 
Clancy  took  her. 

I  went  with  him.  I  remember  very  well  that  I 
had  no  idea  of  going  winter  fishing  when  the 
seining  season  ended,  but  somehow  or  other  when 
Clancy  came  to  get  a  crew  together  I  was  looking 
for  a  chance. 

So  we  put  out,  and  on  the  rocks  of  Cape  Ann, 
near  Eastern  Point  lighthouse,  on  the  day  we  sailed 
on  our  first  halibuting  trip,  were  Maurice  Blake 
and  Alice  Foster,  my  cousin  Nell  and  Will  Somers, 
to  wave  us  good  luck.  Clancy  hauled  the  vessel 
close  in  to  get  a  better  look  and  they  waved  us  until 
I  suppose  they  could  see  us  no  longer.  Of  course 
they  should  have  been  able  to  make  us  out  long 

3°9. 


The  Seiners 

after  we  had  lost  sight  of  them,  we  being  a  tall- 
sparred,  white-sailed  vessel ;  and  Clancy  must  have 
had  that  in  mind,  for  long  after  all  signs  of  them 
had  been  lost  to  us  he  kept  the  glasses  pointed  to 
the  rocks.  He  turned  at  last  with  a  "Well,  I  sup 
pose  they're  all  happy  now,  Joe?" 

"They  ought  to  be,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  they  ought  to  be,"  he  repeated,  and  then 
again,  "they  ought  to  be,"  and  went  for'ard. 

He  stayed  for'ard  a  long  time,  saying  no  word, 
but  leaning  over  the  windlass  and  looking  out 
ahead.  Nobody  disturbed  him.  Once  or  twice 
when  the  sheets  needed  trimming — and  in  a  deep 
sleep  I  think  Clancy  would  know  that — -he  turned 
and  gave  the  word,  but  the  bare  word  and  no  more. 
He  had  his  spells  we  all  knew,  when  he  didn't  want 
anybody  near  him,  and  so  he  wanted  to  be  alone, 
I  suppose.  And  there  he  stayed,  with  what  spray 
came  over  the  bow  splashing  him,  but  he  paying 
no  attention. 

At  supper  call  he  moved,  but  not  to  go  below  and 
eat — only  to  shift  to  walking  the  quarter,  and 
walking  the  quarter  he  stayed  until  near  midnight. 
He  went  below  then  after  giving  a  few  words  of 
instruction  to  the  watch — went  below  and  got  out 
his  pipe.  From  my  bunk,  the  middle  port  bunk  in 
the  cabin,  I  watched  him  rummaging  for  tobacco 
in  his  stateroom  and  then  his  coming  out  with  his 

310 


The  Heart  of  Clancy- 
pipe   and  his  filling  and  lighting  it  slowly  and 
thoughtfully,  and  then  his  sitting  and  smoking  un 
der  the  cabin  lamp. 

Looking  over  when  he  had  finished  that  pipeful 
— I  had  not  drawn  my  curtain — he  caught  my 
eyes  on  him.  He  smiled,  but  said  nothing — only 
lit  another  pipeful,  and  kept  on  smoking. 

I  fell  asleep  watching  him — fell  asleep  and  woke 
again.  He  must  have  been  watching  me,  for  his 
eyes  were  on  mine  when  I  looked  for  him  again. 
He  smiled  and  shook  his  pipe  out,  and  made  as 
though  to  turn  in. 

But  he  didn't  turn  in.  He  took  off  his  jersey, 
loosened  the  collar  of  his  flannel  shirt,  cast  off  his 
slip-shods — stopped — looked  into  his  bunk,  came 
back,  filled  and  lit  another  pipeful  and  began  to 
talk  to  me.  I  thought  I  was  sleepy,  but  in  five 
minutes  I  didn't  think  so.  Joking,  laughing,  tell 
ing  stories — in  ten  minutes  he  had  me  roaring.  Be 
fore  long  he  had  everybody  in  the  cabin  awake  and 
roaring,  too.  Men,  coming  off  watch  and  into  the 
cabin  to  warm  up,  or  for  one  thing  or  another,  lis 
tened  and  stayed.  He  kept  that  up  all  the  rest  of 
the  night — until  after  six  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  only  the  cook  called  to  breakfast  there's  no 
telling  when  he  would  have  stopped.  And  not 
until  he  was  going  for'ard  to  eat  did  I  get  a  glimpse 
of  what  it  was  he  had  been  thinking  of  during  all 


The  Seiners 

those  earlier  hours  of  the  night.  The  sun,  I  re 
member,  was  streaking  the  sky  ahead  of  us — he 
stopped  just  as  he  was  about  to  drop  into  the 
forec's'le  and  pointed  it  out. 

"A  sunrise,  Joe,  on  a  fine  October  morning  out 
to  sea — beautiful — beautiful — but  just  one  thing 
wrong  about  it.  And  what  is  it? — you  don't  see? 
Well,  Joe,  it's  over  the  bow.  A  sunrise,  Joe,  is 
most  beautiful  when  it's  over  the  stern — and  why? 
'Cause  then  you're  going  home — of  course.  Going 
home,  Joe — if  you've  got  a  home  to  go  to.  Look 
to  it,  Joe,  that  you've  got  a  home  of  your  own  to 
go  to  before  you're  much  older.  Somebody  to 
work  for — somebody  waiting  for  you — a  wife, 
Joe — wife  and  children — or  you're  in  for  some 
awful  lonesome  times." 

That  was  Clancy — watch-mate,  bunk-mate, 
dory-mate  once,  and  now  my  skipper — Clancy, 
who  could  be  any  man's  friend,  the  man  that  every 
body  jumped  to  shake  hands  with,  and  yet  never  a 
bit  of  use  to  himself.  And  I  couldn't  but  half 
wonder  at  that,  and  kept  my  eyes  on  him  when, 
with  one  foot  on  the  top  step  of  the  companion- 
way,  he  turned  and  looked  around  again. 

"And  if  you  can't  get  anybody,  skipper?" 

"Then  it's  hard — though  most  likely  you've  de 
served  it." 

"But  you  haven't  deserved  it?" 

31* 


The  Heart  of  Clancy 

"Deserved  it?    Yes,  and  ten  times  over." 

"That's  pretty  rough." 

"Rough?  No,  it's  right.  When  you  do  wrong 
you've  got  to  make  up  for  it.  It's  all  in  the  big 
scheme  of  the  universe.  You've  got  to  strike  a 
balance  some  time— somewhere.  And  the  sooner 
the  better.  Be  thankful  if  you  have  to  settle  it 
right  away,  Joe.  If  you  don't  and  it  drags  along 
— then  it's  worse  again,  and  the  Lord  help  those 
that  come  after  you — those  that  have  to  take  up 
life  where  you've  left  it  off.  The  Lord  have 
mercy  on  the  heirs  of  your  brain  and  heart  and 
soul,  boy.  What  you  hand  them  they've  got  to 
take.  Yes,  sir,  you'll  pay  for  it  somewhere — you 
yourself,  or,  what's  worse,  those  you  care  for  will 
have  to  pay — in  this  world  or  another — whatever 
it  is  we're  coming  to,  a  better  or  a  worse  world, 
it's  there  and  waiting  us.  Be  thankful,  as  I  said, 
Joe,  if  you  have  to  settle  for  it  here — settle  for  it 
yourself  alone." 

All  around,  above  and  below,  ahead  and  astern, 
he  looked,  a  long,  long  look  astern — his  foot  on 
the  step,  and  singing  softly,  almost  to  himself: 

«'  And  if  I  come  to  you,  my  love, 
And  my  heart  free  from  guile, 
Will  you  have  a  glance  for  me — 
Will  you  on  me  smile  ? 

3 '3 


The  Seiners 

Oh,  Lord!  pipe-dreams — pipe-dreams.     Let's  go 
below,  Joe,  and  have  a  bite  to  eat." 

So  below  we  went;  and  her  sails  lit  up  by  the 
morning  sun,  her  decks  wet  by  the  slapping  sea, 
sheets  off  and  sailing  free,  the  Johnnie  Duncan 
clipped  her  way  to  the  east'ard. 


3*4 


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